PLAYS  of  the  NATURAL 
and  the  SUPERNATURAL 


BY 

THEODORE  DREISER 

AUTHOB  OF  "THE  TITAN,"  "THE  GENIUS,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK:    JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 

LONDON:    JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 

MCMXVI 


COPTBIGHT,  1916,  BI  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved,  including  rights  of  production  and  adaptation. 
The  dramatic  rights  are  controlled  by  Mr.  Theodore  Dreiser.  Appli 
cation  for  the  right  of  production,  whether  amateur  or  professional,  should 
be  made  to  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY,  116  West  32d  Street,  New  York  City. 


J.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Company 
New  York,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 7 

II.  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 55 

III.  LAUGHING  GAS 83 

IV.  IN  THE  DARK        119 

V.  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 149 

VI.  THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW     .     .     .     .175 

VII.  "OLD  RAGPICKER"                                       .  201 


I 

THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 


CHARACTERS 

WILLIAM  MAGNET,  a  foreman  of  loom  workers. 
JOHN  FERGUSON,  a  strike  leader. 
MRS.  MAMIE  SHAEFER,  a  striker's  wife. 
MRS.  MARGARET  RICKERT,  another  striker's  wife. 
MRS.  HANNAH  LITTIG,  an  old  woman. 
NICHOLAS  BLUNDY,  a  young  mill  worker. 
TIMOTHY  McGRATH,  a  member  of  the  strikers9  ex 
ecutive  committee. 

TIME  :  Between  seven  and  eight  o'clock  of  an  early 
spring  evening. 

PLACE  :    A  large  mill  town. 


THE    GIRL   IN    THE    COFFIN 

SCENE 

The  parlor  of  WILLIAM  MAGNET'S  house,  which  is 
that  of  a  well-to-do  workingman.  At  the  left  is 
a  door  leading  outside  to  the  porch.  On  either 
side  of  the  door  are  windows,  with  blinds  drawn 
and  heavy  coarse  white  lace  curtains.  To  the 
right  is  a  wooden  mantel  with  a  plush  lambre 
quin,  an  ornamental  clock,  a  gilded  plaster  cast 
and  a  photograph  in  a  celluloid  frame.  Over 
the  mantel  hangs  a  large  "crayon  portrait"  of 
a  woman  in  a  heavy  silvered  frame.  Toward 
the  rear  is  a  door  leading  to  the  dining  room 
and  the  kitchen.  In  one  corner  stands  a  cheap 
mahogany  upright  piano  with  silk  drapery  hung 
over  one  corner.  A  large  highly  decorated  vase 
and  a  chromo  under  glass  representing  St.  Ce 
celia  playing  to  the  angels  (this  picture  sup 
ported  by  a  bracket)  ornament  the  top  of  the 
piano.  To  the  right  of  it  is  a  standing  lamp 
(unlighted  when  the  curtain  rises).  Near  this 
are  three  tiers  of  section  bookcases  filled  with 
"sets."  Under  the  window  at  the  left  is  a  small 
9 


^i  GIRL,  IN  THE  COFFIN 

upholstered  plush  sofa  with  a  sofa  cushion  made 
of  cigar  ribbons.  In  middle  of  the  back  wall 
hangs  a  large  framed  lithograph  portrait  of 
JOHN  FERGUSON,  strike  leader,  standing  in  an 
oratorical  attitude.  A  real  silk  -flag  with  gilt 
lettering  and  gilt  fringe  is  draped  over  one  cor 
ner  of  this  portrait.  On  the  floor  directly  below 
this  picture — far  enough  out  so  that  there  is 
room  to  pass  between  it  and  the  wall — stands  a 
black  coffin  on  trestles.  The  pallid  profile  and 
thick  dark  hair  of  a  dead  woman  are  barely 
visible. 

To  the  right  of  the  stage  toward  the  front  stands 
a  small  oak  table  with  a  lace  cover  and  a  large 
oil  lamp  with  a  painted  china  shade  giving  a  dim 
light. 

MRS.  MAMIE  SHAEFER  is  discovered  seated  to  the 
left  of  the  table  in  a  straight  chair,  crocheting 
lace  edging.  She  is  stout,  neat,  vigorous,  red- 
cheeked,  her  hair  brushed  tightly  back.  She  is 
dressed  in  tight-fitting  black  merino.  To  her 
left,  MRS.  MARGARET  RICKERT  occupies  a  cane- 
seated  rocker.  She  also  is  stout  and  rosy,  but 
of  a  more  placid  type.  She  wears  a  brown  shawl 
and  over  her  head  a  knitted  scarf  of  pink  wool. 
While  MRS.  RICKERT  rocks  and  MRS.  SHAEFER 
crochets,  enter  from  the  dining  room  door  MRS. 
LITTIG,  a  little,  thin,  pale,  vapid-looking  old 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  11 

woman  with  scraggly  gray  hair,  a  gray  calico 
dress  and  a  small  woolen  shawl  over  her  shoul 
ders.  She  walks  across  the  stage  and  lights  the 
lamp  by  the  piano. 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

[Looking  up  from  her  crocheting.] 
Has  Magnet  come  in  yet,  Mrs.  Littig? 

-> 

MRS.    LITTIG 

[Busy  with  the  lamp-lighting.] 
No,  he  ain't  come  in.     (She  speaks  in  a  mild,  high, 
patient  voice.) 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

Where  did  he  say  he  was  goin'? 

MRS.    LITTIG 

He  didn't  sa'y.    Most  like  he  went  to  the  cemetery. 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

It's  queer  he  wouldn't  be  back  by  now. 

MRS.    RICKERT 

He  might  be  at  the  depot  to  meet  Ferguson's 
train.  A  quarter  past  seven  he  gets  here.  The 
crowds  was  thick  already  when  I  come  up  the  street. 


12  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

To  be  sure,  that's  where  he  is.  Are  you  gettin' 
somethin'  to  eat,  Mrs.  Littig?  Magnet'll  need  a 
good  hot  bite  in  case  he  goes  to  the  hall. 

MRS.    LJTTIG 

There's  coffee  made  and  ham  and  eggs  ready  to 
fry  ef  he'll  eat. 

MRS.    RICKERT 

[To  MRS.  LITTIG.] 
Poor  man,  he  ain't  much  appetite,  I  expect. 

MRS.    LITTIG 

No,  he  don't  eat  very  good. 

[When  MRS.  LITTIG  has  finished  lighting  the 
lamp,  she  walks  to  the  coffin  and  stands,  fac 
ing  the  audience,  stroking  her  cheek  and  wip 
ing  her  eyes  now  and  then  with  her  hand.  She 
is  disregarded  by  the  others,  who  go  on  talk 
ing.  After  a  moment  or  two  she  goes  out  by 
the  dining  room  door.~\ 

MRS.    RICKERT 

I  understand  he  takes  it  terrible  hard,  Mrs.  Shae- 
fer.  My  Jim  met  him  ori  the  street  last  night,  and  he 
says  to  him :  "Magnet,"  he  says,  "I'm  sorry  trouble 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  13 

should  V  come  to  you  of  all  men  in  this  town  just 
at  this  time,"  he  says,  "when  so  many  looks  to  you 
for  help."  And  with  that  Magnet  just  give  him  a 
nod  and  walked  on  without  a  word  to  say.  Jim 
was^teUinSHaae  he  had  a  terrible  look  on  his  face  like 
he  was  near  to  lose  his  senses.  "It  was  a  bad  day  > 
for  the  workers  o'  this  town,  Maggie,"  Jim  says  to 
me,  "when  Magnet's  girl  took  sick.  You  want  to 
remember,"  he  says,  "let-ihe  Tabitha  run  ..another 
week  and  this  strike's  lost;  and  run  it  will,"  he  says, 
"as  sure  as  I'm  alive,  without  Magnet  sticks  on  the 
job.  Ferguson's  a  wonder,"  he  says,  "but  he  can't 
do  everything  alone.  It's  a  shame  for  Magnet  to 
draw  out  just  now — there  ain't  no  thin'  ought  to 
make  him  do  it,"  he  says. 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

I  heard  say  they  got  a  message  last  night  from 
Ferguson,  one  o'  them  secret  telegrams.  "The  Ta- 
bitha  walks  out  at  noon  Saturday,"  he  says,  "or  the 
game's  up.  Drive  them  damn  scabs" — that's  what 
he  says  right  in  the  telegram — "drive  them  damn 
scabs  into  Murray  Hall  at  half  past  eight  and  look 
for  me  on  the  seven  fifteen  train.  Have  Magnet 
there/9  he  says. 

[A  slight  pause.] 

Ferguson — ain't  it  surprising,  now,  what  he's  done 
in  this  town?  Ain't  he  got  a  terrible  strong  will? 


14  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

"He's  a  great  man" — that's  what  Tim  McGrath  says 
to  a  crowd  down  there  one  night.  "Talk  about  your 
kings  and  your  emperors  and  your  presidents  and 
your  millionaires,"  he  says — "there  ain't  one  of  'em 
all  with  the  brains  and  the  fists  could  stand  up  alone 
against  Ferguson." 

MRS.    RICKERT 

It's  little  Ferguson  can  do  without  others  to  help 
him.  What  do  them  nine-dollar-a-week  scabs  at  the 
Tabitha  know  or  care  who  Ferguson  is?  He  can't 
talk  no  Eyetalian.  He  ain't  never  run  a  loom.  It 
needs  somebody  can  speak  their  own  tongue  and  has 
lived  in  the  same  place  and  worked  on  the  same  job. 
Magnet's  the  man  to  talk  to  them  men.  Do  you 
think  he'll  go  to  the  meetin'  tonight,  Mrs.  Shaefer? 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,  Mrs.  Rickert.  I'm  here  to 
do  what  I  can.  "It's  his  duty,"  that's  what  my  Joe 
says  to  me  this  mornin' — "it's  his  duty,  and  no  man 
ain't  got  a  right  to  go  against  his  duty,  no  matter 
how  black  his  trouble  may  be.  Do  you  want  we 
should  'a'  starved  and  scraped  ten  weeks  for  noth- 
in'?"  he  says.  "Mill  after  mill  will  shut  down,"  he 
says — "the  Excelsior  down  a  month  since,  the  Max 
well  down  a  fortnight  this  coming  Wednesday,  the 
Junta  down  three  weeks  past — My  God,  think  o' 
that!"  Joe  says  to  me,  "the  Junta — that  miserable 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  15 

pesthouse  o'  poor,  chatterin'  Dago  apes  that  you 
wouldn't  'a'  thought  would  'a'  ever  knew  the  differ 
ence  between  a  strike  and  a  bunch  of  spaghetti ;  and 
here  they  are  holdin'  together  like  human  men,  and 
who's  done  it?"  Joe  says  to  me.  "Why,  old  Mag 
net's  done  it.  Ferguson  never  could  'a'  brought  this 
strike  where  it  is  today  without  Magnet  to  back  him. 
When  the  Tabitha  shuts  down,"  he  says,  "we've  got 
the  best  o'  them  bloodsuckers  that's  tryin'  to  live  off 
our  carcasses.)  4n'  there's  only  one  man  can  put  a 
little  reason  an'  backbone  into  them  cowardly 
sponges  o'  furren  scabs,  an'  that  man's  Magnet. 
Magnet's  in  a  bad  place>"  he  says,  "with  nobody  but 
that  one  pore  foolish  old  woman" — (She  lowers  her 
voice  and  motions  toward  the  dining  room  door.)— 
"to  look  after  him.  She'd  'a'  been  in  the  almshouse 
long  ago  ef  it  hadn't  'a'  been  for  Magnet's  good 
heart.  She's  nobody  to  put  nerve  into  a  man.  Now 
for  God's  sake,"  Joe  says  to  me,  "you  go  down  there 
tonight,  Mamie,  and  see  he  gets  a  good  meal  an' 
turns  up  at  the  hall  an'  gives  his  talk  accordin'  to 
the  timetable.  It's  a  great  pity,"  he  says,  "for  more 
reasons  than  one,  that  Magnet's  wife  is  no  more 
alive.  That  house  would  'a'  been  better  this  long 
time  past  for  a  good,  strong  woman  in  it,"  he  says. 

MRS.    RICKERT 

Seemed  like  he  was  terrible  devoted  to  Mary. 


16  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 


MRS.    SHAEFEE 


He  made  a  great  mistake  to  indulge  her  the  way 
he  did,  Mrs.  Rickert,  a  great  mistake. 


MRS.    RICKERT 

Seems  queer  she  wouldn't  'a'  got  a  man  of  her  own 
before  now — a  bright,  stylish  girl  like  Mary.  There 
was  plenty  courted  her.  They  say  as  young  Nick 
Blundy,  that's  foreman  of  the  warpers  and  twisters 
down  at  the  Waverly,  was  after  her  to  marry  him 
this  long  time. 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

[Severely.'} 

She  would  never  'a*  been  content  to  be  a  mill 
worker's  wife — Mary  Magnet  wouldn't.  She'd 
too  many  notions  for  that.  It  takes  a  hard  jolt  to 
bring  some  off  their  high  horse.  (Significantly.) 

MRS.    RICKERT 

[Leaning  forward  confidentially.'} 
Ain't  it  surprising  now  that  she  should  'a'  gone 
so  quick?  A  strong,  lively  girl  like  that — she  did 
look  the  very  picture  of  health.  What  did  you  un 
derstand  was  the  cause  of  her  sickness,  Mrs.  Shaefer? 
I  heard  say  the  doctors  wasn't  able  to  give  any  satis 
faction  whatever. 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  17 

[A  sudden  knock  at  the  door  intercepts  the  re 
ply  to  this  query.  MRS.  RICKERT  rocks  in  si 
lence,  while  MRS.  SHAEFER  opens  the  door  and 
admits  NICK  BLUNDY,  a  tall,  good-looking 
young  workingman  in  a  dark  gray  suit  and 
flannel  shirt.  He  carries  a  large  pasteboard 
box  under  his  arm,  and  enters  nervously, 
quickly  removing  his  soft  felt  hat.] 


MRS.    SHAEFER 

[In  a  subdued  voice  and  with  great  solemnity.'} 
Good  evening,  Mr.  Blundy.    You  come  to  view  the 
corpse  ? 

[She  makes  an  impressive  gesture  toward  the 
coffin  and  resumes  her  seat.  The  rocking  and 
crocheting  continue,  while  NICK  stands  for  a 
moment  or  two  by  the  coffin.  The  women 
glance  furtively  at  him.  When  he  moves 
MRS.  SHAEFER  speaks. ,] 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

Won't  you  set  down  a  minute,  Mr.  Blundy  ? 

[She  places  a  chair  to  the  left  of  MRS.  RICKERT. 
NICK  seats  himself  gingerly  on  the  edge  of  the 
chair,  propping  his  package  against  it  and 
turning  his  hat  in  his  hand.  The  women  as 
sume  attitudes  and  expressions  of  renewed 


18  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

gravity  and  importance.     MRS.  RICKERT  al 
most  ceases  to  rock.] 


NICK 


[In  a  subdued,  nervous  voice.] 
It's  a  terrible  thing  about  Mary,  ain't  it? 

[Appropriately  lugubrious  sighs  and  murmurs 
come  from  the  women.] 


WOMEN 


It  is  indeed,  Mr.  Blundy.    Terrible.    Yes,  it's  very 
sad. 


NICK 


[After  a  slight  pause.] 
Where's  the  old  man? 


MRS.    SHAEFER 

We're  expectin'  him  in  any  minute. 

NICK 
They  say  he  grieves  very  bitter. 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

Yes,  he  takes  on  a  good  bit. 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  19 

NICK 

Ain't  he  goin'  down  to  the  hall  tonight? 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

[With  much  gravity.] 

I  can't  say  positive,  Mr.  Blundy.     It's  his  duty  to 
go.     There's  hopes  he  may  be  made  to  feel  that. 

NICK 

[Spasmodically,  after  another  slight  pause.] 
I  didn't  know  there  was  anything  ailed  Mary.  I 
seed  her  only  a  week  or  two  ago  walkin'  down  Grant 
Street  one  night,  and  she  says  to  me:  "Nick,"  she 
says,  "it's  slow  times  these  days,  ain't  it,  with  the 
girls  and  the  fellows ;  but,"  she  says,  "what'll  you  bet 
when  we  win  this  strike  we  don't  have  more  coin  in 
bur  pockets  than  ever  we  did — and  then  for  the  good 
old  Saturday  nights!"  Why,  she  was  laughin'  and 
carryin'  on  as  lively  as  a  kitten. 

MRS.    RICKERT 

[Nodding.] 

She  did  enjoy  a  good  time  as  much  as  any  girl, 
Mary  did. 


20  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

NICK 

[Shaking  his  head  mournfully.] 
She  must  V  been   took   awful  sudden.      I  heard 
she  died  Wednesday  night  down  in  the  St.  Francis. 
Is  that  right? 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

Yes,  Mr.  Blundy,  them's  the  facts. 

NICK 

Have  you  heard  say  what  it  was  that  ailed  her? 
[MRS.  RICKERT  stops  rocking  entirely  and  looks 
expectantly   at    MRS.    SHAEFER,    who    draws 
herself  up  with  portentous  dignity.] 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

She  was  took  very  sudden,  and  they  had  need  to 
operate  to  cure  her.  There's  great  danger  in  them 
operations. 

[A  pause.  MRS.  RICKERT  resumes  rocking,  folds 
her  hands  and  looks  wise.  NICK  gazes  si 
lently  at  the  floor.] 

NICK 

[Sadly  reflective.] 

She  sure  did  have  the  ginger  in  her,  that  girl. 
There  was  few  fellows  could  do  with  a  loom  what  she 
could. 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  21 

MRS.    RICKERT 

Mary  was   smart  all  right.      I  guess  there  ain't 
nobody  questions  that. 

NICK 

[Lost  in  his  own  recollections.'] 

Why^JL-seed  her  one  day  on  a  bet  run  six  looms, 

at  onct — seventy  picks  to  the  inch,  mind  you — and 

not  a  snarl  on  one  o'  them  six  machines.     While  we 

was  standin'  there  watchin'  the  boss  come  by,  and 

he  says:     "Mary  Magnet,"  he  says,  "ef  I  could  get 

the  rest  o'  these  chaps  to  work  the  way  you  kin 

work,"  he  says,  "I'd  git  a  damn  big  raise  to  me 

wages,"  he  says;  and  quick  as  a  flash  Mary  says 

back:     "Well,  just  because  me   and  the   boys   kin 

make  human  shuttlecocks  out  o'  ourselves,  that  ain't 

no  reason  why  we're  a  goin'  to  do  it,"  she  says,  "just 

to  raise  your  pay.     We  know  darn  well  we'd  never 

raise  our  own,"  she  says,  all  the  time  jumpin'  around 

from  one  loom  to  another  as  springy  as  a  cricket. 

(A  pause.)     Gee!     (He  shakes  his  head.)     It  sure  is 

hard  to  believe  she'd  'a'  been  took  like  this  so  soon. 

[He  fumbles  after  the  box  on  the  floor  and  lifts 

it  to  his  knees,  hesitates  awkwardly  and  then 

removes  the  cover,  displaying  a  white  pillow 

of  immortelles  with  the  word  "Asleep"  formed 

upon  it  in  large  purple  letters  and  tied  across 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

one  corner  with  an  elaborate  bow  of  purple 
satin  ribbon.  There  is  a  chorus  of  apprecia 
tive  murmurs  from  the  women.  MRS.  SHAE 
FER  rises  and  takes  the  box,  holding  it  up  to 
view.] 


MRS. 

Now,  ain't  that  a  beautiful  thing? 


MRS. 

Oh,  that  is  handsome. 


MRS.    SHAEFER 

Wait  till  I  fix  it  on  the  coffin. 

[She  walks  across  the  room  and  props  the  pil 
low  (which  has  a  fixture  for  this  purpose)  on 
the  lower  half  of  the  coffin  which  is  closed, 
then  backs  away  admiringly  to  get  the  effect. 
The  others  rise  for  the  same  purpose.  At 
this  moment  the  sound  of  shouts  and  band 
music,  faintly  audible  outside  in  the  distance 
for  some  few  moments  previous,  becomes  more 
distinct.  MRS.  SHAEFER  lifts  her 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

It's  Ferguson. 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  23 

MRS.    RICKERT 

Yes,  that's  who  it  is.     They're  bringin'  him  up 
from  the  depot. 

IS.    SHAEFER 

Most  like  there'll  be  trouble  with  the  police  down 
here  by  the  mill  at  the  corner. 

[A  sudden  loud  knock  comes.  All  walk  toward 
the  door,  and  MRS.  SHAEFER  opens  it,  admit 
ting  TIMOTHY  McGRATH,  a  stocky,  sandy- 
haired,  smooth-shaven  man  in  a  black  suit 
with  a  strikers  button  and  ribbon  conspicu 
ous  in  his  buttonhole.  At  the  sound  of  the 
knock  MRS.  LITTIG  creeps  timidly  in  from  the 
kitchen  and  stands  in  the  background  with 
one  hand  on  the  coffin.] 

MCGRATH 

[Standing  in  the  doorway.~\ 
Where's  Magnet? 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

He  ain't  come  in  yet. 

MRS.    RICKERT 

Wasn't  he  at  the  depot? 


24  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

MCGRATH 

[Rapidly  and  excitedly.'] 

No,  he  was  not,  and  Ferguson's  been  raisin'  hell 
down  there.  "Where's  Magnet?"  he  says  the  first 
thing  he  steps  off  the  train.  "Take  away  the  band, 
take  away  the  parade,  take  away  that  carriage,"  he 
says,  "and  get  me  Magnet.  Why  ain't  Magnet 
here?"  he  says.  "I  told  you  to  have  Magnet  here." 
Jack  Flaven  spoke  up  and  says:  "Mr.  Ferguson, 
we  done  our  best  but  we  can't  locate  Magnet.  You 
may  not  'a'  heard,"  he  says,  "but  Magnet's  had  trou 
ble.  His  girl's  dead.  He  won't  talk  tonight,"  and 
Ferguson  says:  (He  lowers  his  voice.)  "I  don't 
give  a  damn  who's  dead ;  I'll  have  no  words  with  any 
body  till  I've  seen  Magnet,"  he  says.  Can't  none  of 
you  tell  me  where  he  is  ?  When  was  he  last  home  ? 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

I  understand  he  ain't  been  home  since  noon,  Mr. 
McGrath. 

MCGRATH 

Well,  for  Christ's  sake,  any  time  he  gets  in  send 
him  down  to  the  hall. 

[NicK  BLUNDY  and  McGRATH  go  out.  MRS. 
SHAEFER  and  MRS.  RICKERT  remain  standing 
just  inside  the  open  door.  MRS.  LITTIG 
moves  aimlessly  back  and  forth  behind  the 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  25 

coffin,  her  arms  folded,  gazing  at  the  dead 
and  now  and  then  wiping  her  eyes.  The  band 
is  now  distinctly  heard  at  the  end  of  the  street 
playing  the  "Marseillaise"  and  cheers,  "Hur 
rah  for  Ferguson!"  mingled  with  shouts.] 

MRS.    RICKERT 

[Pointing  excitedly.  ] 

There's  Ferguson!  See  him  there  walkin'  behind 
the  band !  Oh,  he's  a  grand  man !  There  ain't  noth- 
in'  this  town  can  do  that's  too  good  for  Ferguson — 
that's  what  my  Jim  says. 

[They  stand  for  a  moment  looking  and  listen 
ing,  then  close  the  outside  door.  MRS.  LITTIG 
furtively  leaves  her  stand  by  the  coffin  and 
starts  toward  the  dining  room  door,  but  is 
intercepted  by  MRS.  RICKERT,  who  crosses  the 
stage  and  seats  herself  near  MRS.  SHAEFER, 
who  has  resumed  her  crocheting.] 

MRS.    RICKERT 

Mis'  Littig,  you  was  at  the  hospital  when  Mary 
died,  wasn't  you?  I  heard  tell  she  suffered  a  good 
bit. 

MRS.    LITTIG 

[Turning  reluctantly  on  her  way  to  the  door.] 
She  died  very  quiet,  Mary  did. 


26  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

MRS.    RICKERT 

[Persistently.'} 

Ain't  you  heard  the  doctors  say  what  was  the  mat 
ter  with  her? 

MRS.    LITTIG 

No,  I  ain't  heard. 

MRS.    RICKERT 

Ain't  they  told  her  father? 

MRS.    LITTIG 

I  ain't  heard  him  say. 

MRS.    RICKERT 

I  heard  tell  Mary  was  to  be  married  in  the  summer, 
Mrs.  Littig.    Is  that  a  fact? 

MRS.    LITTIG 

I  ain't  never  heard  Mary  was  to  be  married. 

MRS.    SHAEFER  ^ 

[Addressing  MRS.  RICKERT  'fro  a  contemptuous 

whisper.] 
She  don't  know  nothin'. 

[Exit  MRS.  LITTIG  by  the  dining  room  door. 
MRS.  RICKERT  looks  around  to  make  sure  that 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  27 

she  has  gone,  then  draws  her  chair  close  to 
MRS.  SHAEFER  and  whispers  a  question.  The 
latter  responds  by  a  very  slow  and  preterna- 
turally  solemn  nodding  of  the  head,  accompa 
nied  by  a  sideward  glance  full  of  the  direst 
meaning.] 

MRS.    RICKERT 

Oh,  ain't  that  terrible  now!  (Parenthetically.)  I 
had  my  suspicions !  (She  leans  forward  eagerly  and 
whispers  another  question.) 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

[Very  impressively. ,] 

That  I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Rickert.  As  far  as  I  can 
make  out  there  ain't  nobody  knows.  "You  can  be 
sure  o'  one  thing,"  Joe  says  to  me  this  morning: 
"whoever  it  is,  Magnet  has  still  to  learn  his  name. 
It's  a  short  lease  o'  life  for  the  man  that  wronged 
Mary  Magnet,  once  her  father  finds  out  the  truth. 
That's  what  ails  Magnet,"  Joe  says  to  me.  "He 
can't  find  out.  Ef  somethin'  don't  happen  to  take 
his  mind  off  it  he'll  brood  hisself  crazy." 

MRS.    RICKERT 

[Shaking  her  head  and  clicking  her  tongue. ,] 
Tck !  Tck !  tck !    It  certainly  is  awful.     Now  who 
ever  do  you  suppose? 


28  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

In  my  belief  it's  some  rich  fellow  she  met  up  to  the 
city.  Many  a  Saturday  night  when  work  was  over 
she's  been  seen  take  the  train.  I  understand  she 
spread  round  the  report  she  was  goin'  to  business 
college  up  there.  I  guess,  if  truth  be  told,  it  was  the 
gay  life  she  was  after. — Well,  she's  not  the  first  girl 
foolishness  has  brought  to  her  grave.  (She  nods 
wisely.)  Them  rich  ones  knows  how  to  cover  their 
tracks. 

MRS.    RICKERT 

Ain't  it  a  terrible  shame  now  for  a  man  like  Mag 
net,  a  man  as  has  worked  hard  and  lived  an  honest 
life  and  everybody  respects,  that  his  girl  should  make 
a  common  woman  of  herself  and  his  name  be  made  a 
shame  in  the  town? 


MRS.    SHAEFER 

There's  very  few  knows  the  real  truth,  Mrs.  Rick- 
ert.  "Whatever  you  do,  Mamie,"  Joe  says  to  me, 
"don't  talk.  It  would  be  a  bad  thing  just  at  this 
time,"  he  says,  "if  many  was  to  get  the  straight  of 
how  Magnet's  girl  come  to  her  death.  I  wouldn't 
want  Ferguson  to  know  of  it,"  he  says ;  "why,  Fer 
guson  thinks  the  sun  rises  and  sets  in  old  Magnet," 
he  says. 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  29 


MRS.    RICKER-B 


Mary  always  did  seem  like  a  right  well  behaved, 
sensible  girl,  too — for  all  her  free  ways  and  smart 
talk.  It's  queer  about  them  things. 


MRS.    SHAEFER 

She  looked  too  high,  Mrs.  Rickert — she  looked  too 
high.  That's  the  way  with  them  smart,  good-lookin' 
girls.  They  ain't  never  content  with  enough.  That's 
what  I  says  to  Joe  this  mornin'.  "Now  there  was  a 
girl,"  I  says,  "that  wanted  to  own  the  earth."  Why, 
I  used  to  see  her  go  down  to  work  in  the  mornin'  her 
head  way  up  in  the  air,  swingin'  her  arms  and  step- 
pin'  along  as  proud  as  a  peacock.  You  might  'a' 
thought  she  was  some  fine  lady  instead  of  a  mill  girl. 
An'  now  look  what  she's  come  to.  A  bitter  dose  she's 
had  to  take  for  her  pride. 

[There  is  a  sound  of  voices  and  footsteps  on  the 
porch  outside.  The  women  rise.  The  door 
opens  and  WILLIAM  MAGNET  enters.  He  is  a 
tall,  spare  man  of  over  fifty,  with  plentiful 
gray  hair,  dressed  in  a  dark  suit  and  -flannel 
shirt.  He  is  pale  and  harassed-looking,  and 
almost  savagely  grim  and  abrupt  in  manner. 
He  holds  open  the  door,  admitting  TIMOTHY 

McGRATH.] 


30  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 


MAGNET 

[Abruptly,  closing  the  door.'] 

Take  a  seat,  Tim.  I'll  be  with  you  in  a  minute. 
(To  MRS.  SHAEFER,  politely  but  sternly.)  What 
is  there  I  can  do  for  you,  Mrs.  Shaefer? 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

[Ingratiatingly.  ] 

Put  it  the  other  way  round,  Mr.  Magnet.  Ain't 
there  nothin'  we  can  do  for  you?  That's  what  we're 
here  for.  Won't  you  come  out  in  the  kitchen  and 
have  a  bite  of  somethin'  before  you  talk  to  Mr. 
McGrath?  It'll  do  you  a  sight  o'  good,  Mr.  Magnet. 
There's  coffee  right  on  the  stove. 

MAGNET 

[Maintaining  his  direct   and  forbidding  man 
ner.] 

Thank  you  very  kindly,  but  I  ain't  hungry  just  at 
present.  There's  one  thing  you  can  do,  if  you'll  ex 
cuse  my  speaking  very  plain,  Mrs.  Shaefer. 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

[Somewhat  awed.~\ 
Well,  now,  what's  that,  Mr.  Magnet? 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  31 


MAGNET 

You  can  leave  me  to  myself  for  this  evening  if 
you'll  be  so  kind.  I'm  willing  those  that  wants  to 
should  come  in  during  the  daytime,  but  at  nights  it 
suits  me  better  to  be  alone. 

MRS.    SHAEFER 

[Swelling  with  offended  dignity. "\ 
Why,   certainly,  Mr.   Magnet,  just  as   you  say. 
I've  no  wish  to  thrust  in  my  company  anywhere  I 
ain't  wanted. 

[She  goes  out  promptly  by  the  dining  room 
door,  followed  by  MRS.  RICKERT.  MAGNET, 
quite  unmoved,  draws  up  a  chair  and  seats 
himself  in  front  of  McGRATH.  He  speaJcs 
restlessly,  and  with  a  harsh,  detached  man 
ner.'] 

MAGNET 

Now,  Tim,  whatever  you've  got  to  say,  make  it  as 
short  as  you  can.  This  is  no  time  and  place  to  waste 
words.  (He  motions  vaguely  toward  the  coffin.) 
That  ought  to  be  plain. 

MCGRATH 

[Leaning  forward  and  placing  his  hand  on  MAG 
NET'S  knee.] 
You  have  us  all  wrong,  Magnet,  if  you  think  you 


32  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

ain't  got  our  sympathy.  You've  got  it.  But,  man 
alive — (Straightening  slightly  and  shaking  both 
hands  in  front  of  him.) — we  can't  stop  tonight  to 
think  of  our  feelings.  We  gotta  think  of  the  propo 
sition  we're  up  against.  Inside  of  an  hour  that  hall 
down  there'll  be  chock  full  o'  workers  from  the  Ta- 
bitha.  We've  sweat  blood  to  get  'em  there.  If  they 
go  back  to  work  tomorrow  morning  this  strike's  on 
the  blink.  Who's  goin'  to  hold  that  crowd,  Magnet? 
Ferguson  can't  do  it.  He  don't  know  the  language. 

MAGNET 

[Impatien  tly.~\ 

What's  the  matter  with  Bruno  Bastido?  He  can 
make  a  speech  all  right. 

MCGRATH 

They're  jealous  of  Bastido.  They  think  he's  got 
a  graft.  Magnet,  do  you  remember  what  you  says 
to  us  down  at  the  hotel  that  night  last  January  when 
Ferguson  first  come  to  town?  You  says:  "Boys, 
it  ain't  no  use  tryin'  to  stir  up  the  warpers  an'  the 
twisters  an'  the  loom  workers — they're  organized  so 
tight  already  they  can  hardly  move.  If  you  want  to 
see  a  real  strike  in  this  town,  there's  just  one  way 
to  do  it,  and  that  is  stop  the  looms.  Begin  at  the 
bottom  of  the  ladder  and  get  the  dyers  and  the 
weavers  out.  Stop  wastin'  your  breath  on  these  gen- 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  33 

tlemen  of  labor  that's  enjoyin'  good  union  wages, 
and  talk  to  them  poor  devils  that's  starved  so  long 
they  don't  know  they're  hungry.  Get  out  them  at 
the  bottom  and  the  others  '11  follow  fast  enough." — 
Wasn't  that  the  advice  you  give,  Magnet? 

MAGNET 

[Indifferently.  ] 
I  guess  it  was,  Tim. 

MCGRATH 

Ain't  we  stuck  pretty  close  to  them  tactics  you 
proposed  ?  Ain't  that  the  way  the  Maxwell  was  shut 
down,  an'  the  Junta?  Wasn't  you  personally  pretty 
much  responsible  for  bringin'  about  them  two  walk 
outs  ? 

MAGNET 

[Wearily."] 

Well,  suppose  I  was,  Tim.  What's  that  to  do 
with  it? 

MCGRATH 

[With  renewed  earnestness.] 

Why,  just  this,  Magnet.  You  got  the  men  out, 
but  there's  some  of  the  rest  of  us  has  had  the  devil's 
own  time  tryin'  to  keep  'em  out.  You  know  what  the 
trouble  is.  Up  to  the  middle  o'  last  week  we  ain't 
never  been  able  to  get  as  much  as  a  look-in  o»  the  Ta~ 
bitha.  That  G — —  d- — -  Vito  Toccati  they've  got 


34  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

for  a  foreman  up  there  has  double-crossed  us  from 
the  start.  It's  pretty  hard  on  them  poor  devils  from 
the  Maxwell  and  the  Junta  that's  livin'  along  from 
day  to  day  on  bread  and  potatoes  from  the  relief 
station  to  see  the  Tabitha  hands  goin'  to  work  an' 
know  they're  gettin'  double  pay  and  the  promise  of 
a  big  raise  when  the  strike's  over.  They  won't  stick 
it  out  that  way  much  longer.  You  can't  put  too  big 
a  strain  on  human  nature.  We've  got  to  shut  down 
the  Tabitha.  Why,  Magnet,  you  was  the  first  to  say 
it.  For  two  weeks  we've  kept  a  hundred  pickets 
round  that  mill.  It's  been  a  grim  game.  Every  day 
there's  been  as  many  as  thirty  out  of  the  hundred 
arrested  or  sent  to  the  hospital  with  a  shot  through 
the  arm  or  a  broken  head,  and  every  time  the  next 
morning  we've  had  thirty  new  ones  there  to  take  their 
places.  Well,  we've  made  some  progress.  Out  of  the 
425  that  works  in  that  mill  there  was  only  one  hun 
dred  got  through  the  picket  lines  this  mornin'.  But, 
my  God,  the  fight's  only  just  begun!  We  gotta  get 
'em  all  out  an  we  gotta  keep  'em  out.  We  gotta 
clinch  this  thing,  and  tonight's  the  time.  Ferguson's 
come  down  a'  purpose.  If  this  meeting  falls  flat  the 
whole  strike  may  go  for  nothing.  You  wouldn't 
want  that  to  happen,  would  you,  Magnet?  Don't 
you  feel  like  you  ought  to  come  down  and  help  us 
put  it  through? 

[A  pause.     MAGNET  rises  abruptly  and  -faces 
McGRATH  squarely, ,] 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  35 

MAGNET 

Well,  now,  Tim,  if  you've  said  your  say  and  feel 
satisfied,  you  can  have  my  answer.  It's  the  same  I 
give  you  before  we  come  in  a  few  minutes  ago.  I 
can't  do  what  you  want  me  to.  (Hastily,  as 
McGRATH  starts  to  interrupt.)  At  least,  I  won't  do 
it.  There's  no  more  chance  of  my  goin'  down  to 
Murray  Hall  tonight  than  there  would  be  if  it  was 
me  instead  of  my  girl  lyin'  in  that  coffin.  Now  that's 
all  I  have  to  say.  I  hope  it's  enough.  I  wish  you'd 
go  now  and  leave  me  to  myself. 


MCGIIATH 

Do  you  mean  that,  Magnet? 


MAGNET 

[Savagely. ~\ 

Do  I  mean  it  ?  O'  course  I  mean  it.  Did  you  ever 
know  me  say  anything  I  didn't  mean?  (He  turns  his 
back.) 

MCGRATH 

[Rising.'] 

Do  you  think  you're  doin'  the  square  thing  by 
Ferguson,  Magnet?  He's  staked  pretty  heavy  on 
you. 


36  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

MAGNET 

[Desperately.'} 

Square  or  crooked,  Tim,  have  it  as  you  please.  I 
ain't  goin'  down  to  Murray  Hall  tonight.  And 
what's  more,  I  ain't  goin'  to  argue  about  it  any  fur 
ther.  Now  I  wish  you'd  go. 


MCGRATH 

[Shaking  his  head.] 
I'm    sorry    about    this,    Magnet.      I    don't    think 

you're  doin'  the  thing  that  will  give  you  the  most 

satisfaction  in  the  end. 

[McGRATH  goes  out.  MAGNET  closes  the  door 
and  stands  for  a  moment  stretching  his  arms 
back  and  forth  with  a  weary  movement  of 
mental  suffering  and  physical  exhaustion. 
He  walks  to  the  coffin  for  a  moment,  shakes 
his  head,  moans  a  little  and  swears  under  his 
breath,  then  sinks  into  a  rocking  chair  near 
the  table,  stretches  out  his  feet,  throws  back 
his  head,  closes  his  eyes  and  lets  his  hands  rest 
limply  one  above  the  other  in  an  attitude  of 
utter  weariness  and  dejection.  MRS.  LITTIG 
looks  in  from  the  dining  room,  retreats  for 
a  moment,  and  then  reappears,  carrying  a 
pair  of  shoes,  which  she  places  on  the  floor 
beside  him.  He  stirs  a  little,  but  otherwise 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  37 

pays  no  attention.  MRS.  LITTIG  returns  to 
the  kitchen  and  brings  back  a  large  bottle, 
cup  and  spoon.  She  pours  from  the  bottle 
into  the  cup  and  touches  MAGNET  on  the 
arm.~\ 

MRS.  LITTIG 
Take  a  sup  o'  this. 

MAGNET 

[Rousing. ,] 
What  is  it? 

MRS.    MTTIG 

It's  hot  spirits  and  Jamaicy  ginger. 


MAGNET 

[Motioning  her  away  impatiently.'] 
No,  no.     I  don't  want  it. 

[MRS.  LITTIG  places  the  cup  on  the  table  near 
him  and  starts  toward  the  door.~\ 


MAGNET 

-  [Moving  uneasily.] 
Mis'  Littig! 

[MRS.  LITTIG  turns  and  walks  slowly  back.] 


38  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

MAGNET 

Mis'  Littig.  Come  set  here  a  minute.  I  want  to 
ask  you  somethin'. 

[MRS.  LITTIG  seats  herself  in  a  nearby  chair  and 
rocks  timidly  with  folded  arms.  MAGNET, 
with  eyes  still  closed,  twists  about  in  great 
distress.~\ 

What  did  you  say  was  the  last  thing  Mary  said  to 
you? 

MRS.    LITTIG 

She  says :  "Tell  pap  it's  all  right.  Tell  him  he 
ain't  to  worry." 

MAGNET 

Didn't  she  never  leave  a  message  for  anybody  else? 

MRS.    LITTIG 

Not  as  I  heard. 

MAGNET 

That  night  you  was  settin'  by  her  when  her  fever 
was  so  high —  Ain't  she  never  mentioned  anybody's 
name  ? 

MRS.    LITTIG 

[Shaking  her  head.'] 
No,  she  ain't. 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  39 


MAGNET 

Didn't  you  ever  hear  the  nurse  or  the  doctor  say 
there  was  somebody  she  was  talkin'  about? 

MRS.    IJTTIG 

No,  I  didn't  hear. 

MAGNET 

[Reaching  shakily  over  to  the  table  for  the  cup 
and  taking  a  long  drinJc,  then  replacing  the 
cup  on  the  table  and  slowly  beginning  to  un 
lace  his  boots  and  put  on  dry  ones.'] 
What  ever  become  o'  that  ring  Mary  used  to  wear? 

MRS.    LITTIG 

What  ring? 

MAGNET 

Why,  that  gold  ring  with  a  little  blue  stone  in  it. 
You've  seed  her  wear  it.  She  told  me  she  bought  it 
out  of  her  savings.  It  ain't  on  her  finger  now.  What 
become  of  it  ? 

MRS.    IJTTIG 

I  dunno,  Mr.  Magnet.  I  never  noticed  what  she 
done  with  it. 

MAGNET 

I  was  upstairs  this  mornin'  lookin'  through  all  her 
things,  and  I  couldn't  find  it.  It  ain't  on  her  finger 


40  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

now.  (A  pause.)  Them  times  last  winter,  Mrs. 
Littig,  when  Mary  went  up  to  the  city  so  often, 
didn't  she  ever  tell  you  nothing  about  where  she  went 
and  what  she  done? 

MRS.    LITTIG 

[Reflectively.] 
She  wasn't  ever  much  to  tell. 

MAGNET 

Can't  you  recall  she  ever  mentioned  anybody  she 
met  up  there,  anybody  that  took  her  round  and  acted 
nice  to  her? 

MRS.  LITTIG 


Don't  seem  like  I  can  remember  she  ever  did. 

[A  pause.  MRS.  LITTIG  rises,  takes  the  bottle 
and  cup  from  the  table  and  moves  toward  the 
kitchen.  She  turns  as  she  reaches  the  dining 
room  door.~] 

Mebbe  you  would  eat  a  little   after   a  while.      I 
got  some  supper  in  the  stove.     (She  goes  out.) 

MAGNET 

[Groaning    despairingly    and    turning    in    his 

chair.  ] 

Her  mother  would  'a'  knew  !     Her  mother  would 
V  knew! 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  41 

[There  is  a  knock.  MAGNET  does  not  move.'] 
Somebody  else  after  me,  damn  it!  Why  can't  they 
leave  me  alone?  (The  knock  is  repeated.  MAGNET 
rises  and  goes  savagely  toward  the  door.)  I'll  teach 
'em  to  stay  out  o'  here  for  one  night ! 

[He  opens  and  admits  JOHN  FERGUSON — a 
large  man,  tall,  heavily  built,  smooth-shaven. 
He  enters  in  silence.  MAGNET  succumbs  a  lit 
tle  under  his  steady  eye.'} 

Oh,  why,  good  evening,  Mr.  Ferguson,  good  even 
ing. 

[He  holds  out  his  hand,  which  FERGUSON  takes 
silently. 1 

FERGUSON 
I'm  sorry  to  find  you  in  trouble,  Magnet. 

MAGNET 

[Walking  toward  the  opposite  side  of  the  room. 
For  the  first  time  he  speaks  a  little  tremu 
lously.] 

Yes,  I'm  in  a  bad  way,  Mr.  Ferguson,  a  bad  way. 
It's  my  girl,  Mary.  (He  motions  toward  the  coffin.) 
She's  all  I  had. 

[While  MAGNET'S  back  is  turned,  FERGUSON 
glances  swiftly  about  the  room  and  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  open  coffin  with  a  look  that  is 
peculiarly  painful,  apprehensive  and  signifi- 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 


cant.     Then  lie  walks  toward  MAGNET  and 
puts  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.] 


FERGUSON 

I  know  you've  had  a  hard  blow,  Magnet,  but 
there's  only  one  way  to  meet  it.  Pull  yourself  to 
gether.  You  have  work  to  do.  You're  lucky  there. 
Not  every  man  has  that  comfort  in  his  trouble. 

MAGNET 

[Half  turning  away.~\  \ 

It  don't  seem  like  I  can  take  any  comfort  from 
that,  Mr.  Ferguson.  I'd  be  glad  to  if  I  could.  I 
wish  I  could  talk  to  the  boys  tonight.  I  can't  do  it. 
I  can't  do  nothing  for  a  while  but  set  here  an'  think. 
I  can't  believe  Mary's  gone.  I  can't  geft  used  to  it. 
She  was  all  I  had.  I'd  better  be  dead  myself.  (Pas- 
sionately.)  My  God,  I  wish  I  was! 


FERGUSON 

[Very  quiet  and  repressed.] 

That's  no  thought  for  you  to  hold  tonight,  Mag 
net.  If  a  man's  no  good  to  the  world  and  he  knows 
it,  let  him  get  out  of  it  if  he  wants  to.  It  don't  stand 
that  way  with  you.  You've  got  a  big  responsibility. 
Why  don't  you  be  worthy  of  it?  Why  don't  you 
stand  up  to  it? 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 


MAGNET 


I  can't  think  about  that  now,  Mr.  Ferguson.  The 
way  I  see  it  I've  got  a  right  to  be  left  alone  with  my 
own  trouble.  It's  a  privilege  belongs  to  any  man  if 
he's  a  mind  to  claim  it. 


FERGUSON 

[With  sudden  intensity.] 

Let  me  tell  you,  Magnet,  it's  a  privilege  no  man 
ought  to  want  to  claim  at  the  expense  of  fourteen 
thousand  of  his  fellow  workers.  Things  have  got  to 
a  crisis,  and  you've  had  as  much  to  ^dp  with  that  as 
anybody.  If  we  can  close  out  the  Twbitna  tomorrow 
and  hold  down  it  and  the  other  mills  till  the  end  of 
next  week,  we're  over  the  danger  line.  If  we  can't, 
we  lose  as  sure  as  fate.  If  we  lose,  it'll  take  years, 
years — you  know  that,  Magnet — to  win  back  what 
we've  gained.  The  outcome  o'  this  strike  don't  rest 
on  High,  Magnet — (he  makes  a  sardonic  upward 
gesture) — it  rests  right  here  in  this  room  with  you 
and  me.  (He  pounds  his  fist  softly  on  the  table.) 
Now  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it? 

[MAGNET  shakes  his  head  doubtfully.     FERGU 
SON  continues.] 

You  want  to  remember  how  much  depends  on  a  big 
fight  like  this.  What  made  the  workers  of  this  town 
listen  to  me  when  I  landed  here?  It  was  because 


44  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

they  knew  I'd  won  a  miners'  strike  out  in  Montana 
and  a  lumber  jacks'  strike  in  Oregon  and  a  cotton 
workers'  strike  in  North  Carolina  and  a  glass  blow 
ers'  strike  in  New  Jersey.  They  thtraght~4f  I'd 
helped  others  to  better  wages  and  shorter  hours  I 
could  help  them.  If  we  lose  here,  the  next  town 
where  I  go  they  won't  be  quite  so  ready  to  listen, 
now  will  they?  To  every  big  strike  lost  there's  a 
hundred  others  lost  in  future.  I've  been  holding  off 
from  this  town  a  long  time.  I  thought  they  weren't 
ripe  for  it.  I  looked  over  the  ground  a  good  while 
before  I  made  up  my  mind.  Do  you  want  to  know 
what  was  the  chief  thing  made  me  decide  to  come 
here  this  winter  and  stick  it  out?  It  was  because  I 
found  you  here.  When  I  heard  you  talk  to  that 
crowd  outside  the  Excelsior  one  night  last  year,  I 
said  to  myself:  "When  the  time  comes,  there's  a 
man  I  can  depend  on."  Well,  I  have  depended  on 
you.  You  don't  want  to  give  me  cause  to  regret 
that,  do  you,  Magnet?  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you 
things  here  could  never  have  come  to  a  head  the  way 
they  have.  You  know  that.  It's  no  time  for  you  to 
desert  me  now.  You  can't  do  more  to  prove  your 
sorrow  than  to  meet  it  the  way  a  man  ought.  Come 
on  down  to  the  hall,  Magnet.  The  boys  are  waiting. 

MAGNET 

[Painfully,  after  a  pause.] 
I'm  sorry.     I  can't  do  it,  Ferguson. 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  45 

FERGUSON 

Why  can't  you  do  it  ? 

MAGNET 

[Moving  away  a  little  distance  and  speaking 

with  great  feeling. ] 

You're  a  big  man,  Ferguson.  You've  got  a  big 
mind.  You've  got  a  big  power.  You  know  how  to 
fight,  and  you  know  how  to  put  fight  into  other  men. 
You  put  it  into  me.  I  shan't  ever  forget  the  day  you 
come  into  this  God-forsaken  town.  It  give  me  a 
feeling  I  ain't  had  for  a  good  many  years — a  feeling 
I'd  clean  forgot  I  ever  could  have.  Well — I  followed 
it.  I've  fought  for  you,  Ferguson,  every  day  and 
every  night  for  these  past  two  months,  and  I'd  'a' 
fought  for  you  to  the  end  for  better  or  for  worse  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  this.  There's  something,  Ferguson, 
a  man's  mind  don't  seem  to  have  no  power  to  make 
him  understand.  He's  got  to  'a'  been  there  himself. 
You  ain't  got  no  children  of  your  own,  Ferguson. 
You  can't  understand  there's  some  troubles  comes 
first  with  a  man.  The  whole  world  might  be  waiting 
for  him  to  save  it,  but  it'd  have  to  wait.  Nobody 
wouldn't  have  any  right  to  interfere.  You  don't 
know  what  it  is  to  a  man,  Ferguson,  when  somebody 
— when  somebody— 

[MAGNET'S  voice  breaks.     He  pauses  and  looks 
about  hopelessly  as  if  driven  into  a  corner. 


46  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

Then,  with  a  sudden,  desperate  gesture,  he 

breaks  out  fiercely.'] 

Damn  it,  there's  some  rotten  coward,  some  beast, 
some  low  down  scoundrel  has  ruined  my  girl.  I  don't 
know  who  he  is.  But  I  want  to  know !  I  want  to 
find  out !  I  want  to  find  him !  I  want  to  kill  him ! 
It's  the  only  thing  I  do  want.  Until  I've  done  that, 
this  strike  can  go  to  hell.  You  can  go  to  hell.  They 
all  can  go  to  hell. 

[He  drops  into  a  chair  and  covers  his  face  with 

his  hands.    FERGUSON  watches  him  steadily  in 

silence,  then  as  he  quiets  a  little  begins  to 

pace  up  and  down.] 

FERGUSON 

This  man  you  say  has  done  your  girl  so  much 
harm — how  do  you  know  but  what  she  loved  him? 

MAGNET 

{In  a  savage  tone,  looking  up  swiftly.] 
Loved  him!     Loved  him!     The  damn  dog.     Sup 
pose  she  did  love  him!    What's  that  to  do  with  it? 

FERGUSON 

[Very  quietly,  still  pacing  up  and  down  and 

looking  at  the  floor.] 

A  whole  lot.  No  man  ever  lived  that  ruined  the 
woman  that  loved  him.  It  can't  be  done. 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  47 

[There  is  such  a  deep  conviction  in  FERGUSON'S 
tone  that  MAGNET  gazes  at  him  in  silent  as 
tonishment.  FERGUSON  seats  himself  slowly, 
remaining  silent  a  minute.] 

There's  something  I  might  as  well  tell  you,  Mag 
net,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  listen. 

[A  long  pause  follows,  FERGUSON  gazing  at  the 

floor.     Then  he  speaks  in  a  low  voice.] 
You  are  not  the  only  man  in  this  town  tonight 
whose  hopes  are  lying  in  a  coffin. 

0 

MAGNET 

[Startled,  looking  closely  at  FERGUSON.] 
You?     (FERGUSON  nods.)     Somebody  close? 

FERGUSON 

Yes,  somebody  close. 

MAGNET 

Dead? 

FERGUSON 

[Heavily.'] 
Yes,  dead. 

MAGNET 

[After  a  pause,  drawing  closer.) 
It  ain't  your  wife? 


48  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

FERGUSON 

No,  not  my  wife.  (He  moves  restlessly,  and 
speaks,  after  a  pause,  in  a  changed  tone.)  It's  been 
some  time  since  your  girl's  mother  died,  Magnet — 
isn't  that  so  ? 

MAGNET 

Fifteen  years. 

FERGUSON 

(T^ 

I  suppose  you  and  she  lived  happy  together,  didn't 
you? 

MAGNET 

[Solemnly.] 
We  did  that. 

FERGUSON 

Well — I  wasn't  so  lucky.  My  wife  and  I  haven't 
lived  together  at  all  this  many  a  day.  If  we  had  I'd 
never  be  here  in  a  loom  worker's  cottage,  fighting 
within  an  inch  of  my  life  to  win  a  strike.  I'd  be  sit 
ting  in  some  hotel  parlor  hobnobbing  with  a  lot  of 
bishops  and  politicians  and  college  professors,  trying 
to  patch  up  a  peace  between  the  mill  owners  and  the 
strikers*  I'd  wear  a  medal  and  have  a  good  fat  bank 
account.  I'd  kowtow  to  ladies  and  gentlemen.  They 
wouldn't  hate  me  the  way  they  do  now — they'd  only 
snub  me.  I  wouldn't  stick  out  my  tongue  at  the  min 
ister.  When  I  drank  champagne  and  ate  at  swell  res 
taurants  I'd  do  it  on  the  quiet.  The  newspapers 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  49 

wouldn't  hound  me — they'd  praise  me.  I  wouldn't  be 
a  scoundrel,  an  anarchist,  a  cut-throat  revolutionist. 
I'd  be  a  respectable  labor  leader — that's  what  I'd  be 
if  I'd  stayed  with  my  wife.  Maybe  you  think  I'd 
better  have  stayed  with  her.  (He  laughs  sneering- 
ly.)  There's  plenty  would  agree  with  you  in  that 
opinion. 

[MAGNET  makes  a  protesting  gesture,  but  FER 
GUSON  pays  no  attention.'] 

Well,  I  didn't  stay  with  her,  I  left  her.  A  good 
living  is  all  she  gets  out  of  me.  It's  all  she  ever  will 
get.  Except  my  name.  She  hangs  on  to  that.  And 
my  freedom.  She's  got  that  locked  up  safe  enough, 
or  she  thinks  she  has.  She  claims  I'm  not  good 
enough  to  marry  any  other  woman.  (lie  laughs  cyn 
ically.)  Maybe  she's  right  about  that.  But  I  was 
good  enough  for  another  woman  to  love  me  just  the 
same.  (With  a  touch  of  boyish  pride.\ 

She  did  love  me  anyhow,  this  other  woman,  whether 
I  was  good  enough  or  not.  She  didn't  get  a  living 
out  of  me.  She  didn't  get  my  name.  She  didn't  get  a 
right  to  blame  me  if  I  was  unfaithful  to  her — and  I 
wasn't  always  faithful  to  her.  She  didn't  even  get  a 
right  to  tell  anybody  she  loved  me,  and  it  seems  like 
that's  what  a  woman  hankers  after  the  most  of  all. 
I  never  told  her  I  loved  her.  She  just  had  a  sort 
of  an  idea  I  was  glad  she  loved  me.  I  was  glad — 
for  a  kind  of  a  queer  reason.  She  kept  me  from 


50  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

feeling  lonely.  I'll  say  that  for  her — she  was  the 
only  human  being  I've  ever  known  that  could  stand 
between  me  and  mortal  loneliness.  Maybe  that  means 
I  loved  her.  I  don't  know.  I  don't  suppose  I  did. 
(-4  pause.) 

Well,  tonight,  just  before  I  took  the  train  to  come 
down  here,  I  heard  that  woman  was  dead.  I  didn't 
enjoy  the  trip  down  so  very  much. 

[There  is  so  much  suppressed  suffering  m  his 
voice  that  MAGNET  instinctively  reaches  for 
ward  and  lays  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.    FER 
GUSON  shakes  it  off,  rises  and  faces  MAGNET.] 
You  said  to  me  I  don't  know  how  it  feels  to  be  a 
father.      You're    right    about   that,   Magnet,    dead 
right.     I  don't  know.     Being  the  kind  of  man  I  am, 
nobody  seems  to  think  I'm  entitled  to  any  connec 
tion  with  a  family.    A  courtroom  or  a  jail  cell  is  sup 
posed  to  be  the  place  where  my  disposition  thrives 
to  the  best  advantage.     The  only  kind  of  a  father 
I've  ever  had  a  chance  to  be  you  wouldn't  call  a 
father  at  all.     You'd  call  him  a  beast,  a  low-down 
scoundrel,  a  man  that  ruins  other  men's  daughters. 
Since  my  mother  died,  when  I  was  a  ten-year-old  kid 
working  on  the  bunkers  in  a  coal  mine  out  in  Colo 
rado,  I've  never  known  but  one  home,  and  that's  in 
a  dead  woman's  heart.,    I'm  alone  now  and  likely  to 
stay  so.     I  haven't  any  more  hope  of  happiness  in 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  51 

this  world  than  I  have  of  going  to  heaven  when  I 
die,  and  that's  none  at  all. 

[With  sudden,  passionate  emphasis.] 

But  there's  one  thing  I  don't  ever  forget,  Magnet 
: — unhappiness  is  a  lot  easier  to  bear  when  you've  got 
clothes  to  cover  your  back  and  food  enough  to  hold 
your  body  and  soul  together.  When  I  come  to  a 
town  in  the  dead  of  winter  and  find  twenty-five  thou 
sand  people  on  the  edge  of  freezing  and  starvation, 
I  remember  the  time  when  my  own  mother  went  cold 
and  hungry,  and  it  don't  seem  to  make  very  much 
difference  to  me  whether  I'm  happy  or  not. 

[He  takes  up  his  hat  as  if  to  leave,  and  moves  a 
little  toward  the  door.~\ 

As  long  as  I  can  keep  alive  to  fight  for  those  poor 
devils,  I'll  fight  for  'em.  There  was  a  while  I  ex 
pected  others  to  feel  the  same  way,  but  I've  got  over 
that.  Nobody  knows  any  better  than  I  do  how  few 
men  you're  likely  to  run  across  in  a  lifetime  that'll 
join  the  ranks  to  stay.  I  used  to  take  it  pretty  hard 
when  an  old  comrade  fell  out,  but  it  don't  make  so 
much  difference  any  more.  I've  swallowed  that  kind 
of  a  disappointment  with  my  daily  bread  for  so  many 
years  now  that  it's  got  to  be  a  pretty  old  story. 
There's  one  thing  that  always  helps  me  to  stand  it. 
If  there's  nobody  else  in  this  world  I  can  count  on,  I 
know  I  can  always  count  on  myself.  As  long  as 
there's  breath  in  my  body  I'll  never  lose  heart  and  I'll 


52  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN 

never  give  up  the  game.  A  good  part  of  the  world 
seems  to  look  on  me  as  a  kind  of  a  devil.  Well,  if 
that's  the  way  they  feel  about  it,  let  'em  think  so.  I 
don't  mind  being  the  kind  of  an  individual  that  can 
walk  through  hell  without  being  scorched  any  so's 
you'd  notice  it.  Life  can  kill  and  bury  my  happiness, 
but  it  can't  kill  and  bury  my  courage.  This  strike 
that's  on  in  this  town  is  the  biggest  I've  ever  han 
dled.  Without  you  to  help  me,  Magnet,  maybe  I'll 
lose  it.  Or  maybe  I  won't  lose  it.  Maybe  I'll  win 
it  anyhow.  This  night  may  mean  the  beginning  of 
the  end  for  me  or  it  may  mean  the  beginning  of  the 
biggest  success  I've  ever  known.  But  whichever  way 
it  is,  you  can  be  sure  of  one  thing — if  ever  I  go  down 
it'll  be  with  every  man's  hand  against  me  and  my 
back  shoved  up  against  a  hard  high  wall. 

[There  is  a  knock.     FERGUSON  opens  the  door 
and  McGRATH  steps  just  inside.~] 

MCGRATH 

Are  you  ready,  Mr.  Ferguson?     Time's  getting 
short. 

FERGUSON 

All  ready,  McGrath. 

MAGNET 

[Rising  suddenly. ~\ 

Hold  on  there  a  minute,  Tim.     {He  walks  to  the 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  COFFIN  53 

dining  room  door  and  calls  to  MRS.  LITTIG.)  You 
needn't  set  the  table  till  I  get  back,  Mrs.  Littig.  I'm 
going  down  to  the  hall.  (He  takes  his  hat  and  walks 
to  the  door.) 

FERGUSON 

You  take  the  machine  and  go  on  over,  boys.     I 
want  to  walk.     I'll  be  with  you  in  a  few  minutes. 

[MAGNET  and  McGRATH  go  out.  FERGUSON 
closes  the  door  and  leans  against  it,  raising 
his  head  and  laying  one  hand  across  his 
mouth.  As  he  stands  there  MRS.  LITTIG  en- 
ters  hesitatingly,  looking  about  to  make  sure 
MAGNET  has  gone.  She  walks  over  to  FERGU 
SON,  and  standing  before  him,  pulls  from  the 
neck  of  her  dress  a  long  ribbon  and  from  it 
unties  a  gold  ring  which  she  hands  to  FER 
GUSON.  She  looks  at  him  sadly  and  timidly 
but  simply  and  quite  without  reproach.] 

MRS.    LITTIG 

She  said  I  was  to  give  you  this.     She  said  I  was 
to  say  she  died  happy. 

[Without  waiting  for  comment  or  reply,  MRS. 
LITTIG  leaves  the  room  by  the  dining  room 
door.  FERGUSON  slips  the  ring  in  his  vest 
pocket  and  walks  slowly  to  the  coffin.  He 
stands  behind  it  and  looks  down.] 
CURTAIN 


II 

THE   BLUE    SPHERE 


CHARACTERS 

JOSEPH  DELAVAN,  a  grocer. 

MRS.  DELAVAN. 

HARRY,  their  son. 

EDDIE,  the  monstrosity. 

THE  SHADOW. 

THE  FAST  MAIL. 

MRS.  MINTURN,  a  neighbor. 

JOHN  GALLOWAY,  an  engineer. 

PETERSEN,  a  fireman. 

Conductor,  Postmen,  Trainmen  and  Passengers. 


THE    BLUE    SPHERE 

SCENE 

The  kitchen  of  the  Delavan  home,  one  block 
from  the  tracks  at  the  outskirts  of  Marydalc. 
A  solid  board  fence,  unpainted,  encloses  the 
yard  on  three  sides.  In  the  front,  a  yellow 
picket  fence  with  a  gate  caught  by  a  string. 
From  the  gate  to  the  front  and  rear  doors,  a 
moist,  brick  walk.  Outside  the  kitchen  win 
dow,  vines  and  hollyhocks.  Inside,  a  break 
fast  table  on  which  dishes  are  spread,  and  at 
opposite  sides  of  which  sit  MR.  and  MRS. 
DELAVAN. 

TIME — Seven-thirty  A.M. 

JOSEPH    DELAVAN 

[A  short,  stout  man  with  brown  hair  and  mous 
tache,  and  brown-blue  eyes,  a  grocery  man  by 
trade — rising  and  brushing  the  crumbs  from 
his  lap.~\ 

Well,  I'll  be  going.  (He  takes  down  his  coat  and 
hat  from  a  hook,  and  folds  up  his  paper.)  See  that 
the  boy  don't  get  out  again  today,  will  you? 

[He  glances  toward  the  front  room  in  an  ap- 
57 


58  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 

prehensive,  strained  way,  and  goes  out,  leav 
ing  the  door  open,  but  carefully  fastening1  the 
gate  behind  him.] 


MRS.    DELAVAN 

[A  blonde  woman  of  thirty-three,  clearing  away 
the  breakfast  dishes  and  shaking  her  head 
dolefully. ,] 

Ah  me !  Oh,  the  day  that  he  was  born !  It  makes 
all  the  difference.  Things  have  not  been  the  same 
since  he  came — poor  little  thing  that  it  is !  And  to 
think  that  I  should  have  given  birth  to  it!  (She 
brushes  away  the  gathering  tears  with  her  hand.) 
It  would  be  a  blessing  almost — (she  pauses,  terrified 
by  her  own  thoughts) — but  God  forgive  me  for 
thinkin'  of  it!  It  would  be  me  that  would  suffer  if 
any  harm  came  to  a  single  hair  of  its  head.  (She 
wipes  her  eyes  anew.) 


DELAVAN 

[Walking  out  Wood  Street  to  his  store,  and 

sighing  heavily.] 

Dear,  dear,  dear,  dear !  That  this  should  have  be 
fallen  us!  (He  sighs  again.)  Three  years  old !  Not 
walking,  not  talking,  and  never  will !  The  years ! 
The  years !  (He  renews  his  sigh.) 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  59 

THE    SHADOW 

[A  soft,  girlish  figure,  entering  the  Delavan 
kitchen,  trailing  clouds  of  diaphanous  dra 
pery,  a  pale  blue  sphere  in  her  hands.  She 
looks  about,  passes  through  the  walls  to  the 
front  bedroom,  where  Eddie,  THE  MON 
STROSITY,  lies,  and  bends  over  the  crib.'] 
Eddie!  Eddie!  (She  holds  up  the  sphere.) 


THE    FAST    MAIL 

{Passing  Ellsworth,  one  hundred  and  sixty  miles 

away.~\ 
Ooooooo-ee !     Ooo-ee !     Ooh-ooh ! 


MRS.    DELAVAN 

[Laying  dishes  in  the  dishpan.~\ 
My,  but  the  flowers  smell  sweet  this  morning.   (She 
pauses  to  examine  the  trumpet  flowers.) 

THE    MONSTROSITY 

[A  child,  with  a  head  almost  twice  the  size  of  a 
normal  one,  opening  its  large  and  unnaturally 
starey  eyes,  and  for  the  first  time  perceiving 
the  blue  sphere. ] 

Urg-ubbla-da !     Blub!     Blub!     (It  holds  out  its 
hands.) 


60  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 

THE    SHADOW 

[Smiling  winsomely,  and  waving  the  sphere  to 

and  fro,   and  revealing   the  splendor  of  its 

clarity.~\ 

See  how  beautiful  it  is !     How  blue,  how  light ! 
[It  seems  to  -float  in  her  hands  like  a  bubble  as 

she  turns  it  round  and  round,  beckoning  the 

child  to  follow.'] 

THE    MONSTROSITY 

[Its  arms  still  aloft,  kicking  and  crowing  hor 
ribly.'] 
Ahda-da!    Urg!    Ahbublu! 

MRS.    DELAVAN 

[Hearing  the  sound  of  its  voice,  and  opening 

the  door.~] 

It's  awake,  is  it?  My  little  pet.  (She  suppresses 
an  almost  uncontrollable  shudder  as  she  views  it.) 
I  thought  I  heard  you  kicking  and  crowing.  Poor 
little  dear !  My  loving,  petty  lamb !  Come  now ! 
(She  lifts  it  up  and  fondles  it  on  her  breast  and 
neck.)  Oh,  the  poor  little  sweetheart.  Was  it  hav 
ing  to  talk  all  to  itself?  Well,  mother's  been  think 
ing  of  her  pretty  baby  all  the  night  long.  (To  the 
lad  of  nine  years  who  appears  in  the  doorway)  : 
Come,  Harry.  Get  your  clothes  on.  I'll  want  you  to 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  61 

go  to  the  store.  (She  smooths  the  great  head  on  her 
breast  with  a  feeling  of  anguish.)  Sweety  baby! 
Mother's  little  lamb.  (  She  begins  to  dress  it.) 


THE    FAST    MAIL 


[Passing  Ultona,  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 

away.'] 
Oooooo-ee !     Oooooo-ee !     Ooh-ooh ! 


DELAVAN 

[Arriving  at  his  store,  still  thinking.] 
It  would  be  so  much  better  if  it  should  die — though 
I  don't  suppose  I  ought  to  wish  it.     It's  unchristian. 
(He  unlocks  the  door  and  goes  in.) 

THE    SHADOW 

[Before  the  child  and  its  mother,  waving  the 

blue  ball.'] 

See!  How  wonderful!  How  lovely!  Here  are 
yellow  and  grey  and  green  as  I  turn  it.  See  the  pink 
here — isn't  it  lovely?  This  soft,  soft  shade  of  pink! 
(She  holds  the  ball  close.) 

THE    MONSTROSITY 

[Staring,  interested,  allured.] 
Ah-da!    Eee!    Oo-blub! 

[It  holds  out  its  hands  and  kicks  and  struggles. 


62  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 

The  shadow  moves  backward,  then  forward, 
then  backward,  then  forward,  luring  the  child 
by  the  motion.] 


MES.    DELAVAN 

[Carrying  the  child  to  the  kitchen.] 
Come  now,  I'll  put  you  down  here  where  mother 
can  see  you.  That's  right.  Now  here's  a  nice 
wooden  rattle  for  baby  to  play  with  until  mother 
gets  it  something  to  eat.  (She  places  a  red  and 
green  rattle  in  the  child's  lap.  He  drops  it  to  gaze 
at  the  blue  sphere.)  And  now  here  is  something  for 
the  baby  to  eat.  (She  brings  a  bowl  with  a  spoon, 
•from  which  she  feeds  it,  sighing  the  while.  The  shad 
ow  disappears.) 

MES.    MINTUEN 

[A  neighbor,  looking  out  of  her  window  at  some 

sweet  pea  vines  and  smiling.] 

What  a  perfect  day!  How  nice  Mrs.  Arthur's 
trees  look!  I  think —  (She  is  thinking  of  calling  on 
Mrs.  Arthur.) 

THE    SHADOW 

[At  her  elbow] 

You  think  you  will  call  on  Mrs.  Delavan,  don't 
you?  She  is  so  lonely! 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  63 


MRS.    MINTURN 

[Sympathetically  but  seemingly  continuing  her 

own  thoughts.] 

I  will  call  on  Mrs.  Delavan;  she  is  so  lonely.  I 
guess  I'd  better  do  my  house  work  first,  though. 

MRS.    DELAVAN 

[Ceasing  to  feed  the  child.'] 

Now  then,  will  it  play  with  its  rattle  like  a  nicey 
baby,  while  mama  does  the  front  room?  (She  passes 
her  hand  over  her  forehead  wearily,  and  turns  to  her 
work.) 

THE    SHADOW 

[Reappearing  to  the  child.  ~\ 

See  how  wonderful  !  How  beautiful  !  It  floats  and 
flies  as  you  will  float  and  fly  if  you  come  with  me. 
(She  dances  the  sphere  before  it.) 

THE    MONSTROSITY 

Ugh!    Blooble! 

[It  begins  to  propel  itself  across  the  floor  to- 
ward  the  door,  holding  out  its  hands  at 
times.'] 

THE    SHADOT7 

[Waving  the  blue  sphere.  ~\ 
Come  !    Come  ! 


64  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 


THE    FAST    MAIL 


[Passing  Ungers,  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles 

away.] 
Ooooo-ee !     Ooooo-ee !     Ooh-ooh ! 

MRS.    MINTURN 

[Finishing  her  housework  at  eleven.] 
Now  I  think  I'll  go.    Mrs.  Delavan's  life  with  that 
child  on  her  hands  must  be  awful.      (She  throws  a 
light  shawl  about  her  shoulders  and  steps  out.) 

THE    SHADOW 

[Meeting  her  at  the  DELA.VAN  gate.] 
Forget  the  gate!     Forget  the  gate! 

[Unconsciously  MRS.  MINTURN  leaves  the  gate 
open.] 

MRS.    DEL.AVAN 

[The  spell  of  self-absorption  broken  by  the 
sight  of  MRS.  MINTURN  nearing  her  window.] 

Eddie!  Eddie!  Where  is  he?  (She  hurries  to  the 
kitchen  and  out  upon  the  walk,  where  she  finds  him. ) 

(To  MRS.  MINTURN,  without  greeting)  :  He  al 
ways  makes  for  the  gate  for  some  reason,  and  we're 
so  afraid  that  if  he  gets  out  some  time  he'll  get  hurt. 
(She  picks  him  up  and  carries  him  back  to  the 
kitchen  entrance  with  grieved  thoughts.)  Now 
won't  you  play  here,  dearie?  (She  puts  him  down.) 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  65 

MKS.    MINTUEN 

[A    pale,    slight   woman   with   partially   gray 

hair.'] 

It  is  such  a  lovely  morning  I  thought  I  would 
run  over  and  see  how  you  are  getting  along.  (To 
herself):  What  an  affliction!  Horrible!  What  a 
dreadful  thing  it  really  is.  (She  plunges  mto  an  ex 
change  of  friendly  gossip.) 

THE    SHADOW 

[Reappearing  before  the  child,  the  blue  sphere 

in  her  hands.  ] 

See!  How  perfect!  Green  and  violet,  and  this 
fleck  of  milky  white  all  toned  into  one !  (She  waves 
the  blue  sphere.) 

THE    FAST    MAIL 

[Passing  Berham,  eighty  miles  away.~\ 
Ooooo-ee !    Oooooo-ee !    Ooh-ooh ! 

JOHN    GALLOWAY 

[The  engineer,  stout  and  round,  to  PETEBSEIT, 

the  fireman,  slender  and  sinewy."] 
This  makes  the  fifteenth  year  I've  been  on  this  run ; 
fifteen  years  tomorrow.     If  somethin'  don't  happen 
then  it'll  be  fifteen  years  without  a  real,  serious,  big 
accident.    I  guess  I'd  better  tap  on  wood. 


66  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 

[He  smites  the  small  window  ledge  of  his  win 
dow.    The  engine  takes  a  great  trestle .] 


PETERSEN 

[Stopping  in  his  shoveling.] 
This  makes  my  fifth. 

[The  thunder  of  the  wheels  on  the  bridge  drowns 

most  of  the  sound,  and  the  wind  blows  the 

rest  away.~\ 

DELAVAN 

[Approaching    his    home    at    twelve- fifteen,    a 

block  distant.] 

Well,  if  the  gate  isn't  open  and  Eddie  on  the  side 
walk!  Ella  ought  to  keep  a  better  lookout  than 
that.  I  told  her  about  it  this  morning!  (He  hurries 
forward.)  It's  bad  enough  to  have  a  child  in  this 
state,  but  to  have  it  crawling  all  over  the  neighbor 
hood.  (He  stoops  to  pick  it  up.) 


THE    SHADOW 

[The  blue  sphere  in  her  hands.] 
Forget  the  gate!    Forget  the  gate!     (Passing  her 
hand  before  his  eyes.) 

[He  enters  the  gate,  leaving  it  open,  but  re 
turns  after  a  little  to  close  it.] 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  67 

MRS.    DELAVAN 

[Appearing     at     the     door,     distressed     and 

ashamed.] 

Eddie!  He  has  crawled  out  again!  Oh,  dear! 
Oh,  dear !  Whatever  will  I  do  with  him !  Why,  he 
was  right  here  only  a  moment  ago.  Where  did  you 
find  him?  (She  makes  room  for  MRS.  MINTURN,  who 
comes  forward  to  make  her  departure.) 

DELAVAN 

[With  suppressed  irritation.'] 

Outside  the  gate.  He  was  half  way  down  the 
street  here.  The  gate  was  wide  open. 

MRS.    MINTURN 

[Apologetically,  sorry  for  MRS.  DELAVAN.] 
I  may  have  left  it  open,  though  I  thought  I  closed 
it.  I  must  be  going  now.   I'm  sorry.   I  know  how  it  is 
with  children.    They  love  to  crawl.     (She  greets  MR. 
DELAVAN.) 

DELAVAN 

[To  MRS.  DELAVAN,  after  MRS.  MINTURN  has 

gone.] 

Something  is  sure  to  happen  one  of  these  days  if 
you  don't  keep  that  gate  closed.  It's  bad  enough  as 
it  is,  seems  to  me,  without  making  a  spectacle  of  us. 
I— 


68  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 

MRS.    DELAVAN 

[Wiping  her  eyes.~\ 

There  you  go.  As  though  I  didn't  have  a  hundred 
things  to  think  of  besides  watching  him.  Heaven 
knows,  I  don't  want  him  to  get  away  any  more  than 
you  do,  but  he  seems  possessed  to  do  it.  I  didn't 
leave  the  gate  open.  Mrs.  Minturn  called  a  little 
while  ago — 

DELAVAN 

[Sympat  hetically.  ] 

I  know  you've  got  a  lot  to  do.  I'm  just  ashamed 
to  have  him  crawling  around  that  way.  {He  pats 
her  shoulder.) 

THE    MAILMAN 

[Whistling  and  calling]  "Delavan!"   [hands  in 
a  letter.~\ 

THE    SHADOW 

[As  he  goes  out  the  gate.] 

Forget  the  gate !  Forget  the  gate !  (He  goes  off, 
leaving  it  open.) 

THE    FAST    MAIL 

[Passing  Tyndale,  sixty  miles  away.~\ 
Ooooo-ee !     Oooo-ee !     Ooh-ooh ! 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  69 

THE    SHADOW 

[To  the  child,  who  is  just  inside  the  door.'] 
Grey !    Green !    Blue !    Brown !     See  how  smooth, 
how  glistening,  how  round! 

[She  coaxes   him  with   the  sphere,   waving   it 
before  her.    The  child  begins  to  crawl.] 

DELAVAN 

[To  his  wife,  who  is  putting  food  on  the  table."} 
Mrs.  MacMichaels  was  in  this  morning.  She 
wanted  me  to  give  her  more  credit.  But  with  that 
husband  of  hers  I  couldn't.  I  told  her  if  she  would 
pay  half  the  old  bill — but  she  can't,  of  course.  I 
don't  see  why  I  should  be  called  upon  to  trust  them. 
(He  eats  rapidly.) 

MRS.    DELAVAN 

[Forgetful  of  the  MONSTROSITY  for  a  moment.] 

Nor  I.    I  know  it's  too  bad,  and  I'm  sorry  for  her, 

but  I  don't  see  that  you  should  be  called  upon  to  do 

it.     I  wonder  what's  keeping  Harry  so  long?     (She 

goes  to  the  door.) 

THE    SHADOW 

[Before  the  child  outside,  waving  the  sphere  m 

sinuous  lines.] 
Thus  and  so,  right  and  left,  round  and  round. 


70  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 

[The  child  rocks  its  head  in  time  with  the  mo 
tion.] 


DELAVAN 


[Chancing  to  glance  at  the  child  and  deeming 

the  motion  to  be  the  result  of  idiocy] 
Tct !  Tct !  Tct !    It's  too  bad.     (He  hides  his  dis 
tress  behind  a  grave  face. ) 


MRS.    DELAY  AN 


[Returning  from  looking  for  her  son.~\ 
I  don't  see  him.   (  She  seats  herself.     They  eat  in 
silence.) 


THE    SHADOW 


[The  child  following  her] 

Round  and  round,  round  and  round.  Pale  grey ! 
Pale  blue!  Dark!  Light!  Light!  Dark!  Light! 
Dark!  (The  child  crawls  eagerly  after.) 


HARRY 

[Entering  a  few  moments  later  with  Eddie  in 

his  arms] 

Somebody's  left  the  gate  open  again.  The  kid 
was  right  near  it.  Say,  if  we  don't  keep  it  closed 
he'll  get  out  some  day  and  right  down  on  the  tracks. 
He  was  just  scramblin'  along. 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  71 

MRS.    DELAVAN 

[Wearily.'} 

Now,  who  could  have  done  that !  It  must  have 
been  the  mailman.  (She  puts  the  child  beside  her  on 
the  floor.)  I  think  I'll  have  to  tie  a  string  around 
him.  He's  getting  awfully  restless  these  days.  I 
never  saw  anything  like  it.  (She  contemplates  the 
years  of  misery  and  discomfort  and  distress  which 
he  represents,  but  reproaches  herself  for  it  all  at  the 
same  time.)  I  don't  know  whatever  I  am  to  do  with 
him.  I  can't  lock  him  up  in  a  room  all  day  all  by 
himself.  (She  closes  the  door.) 

DELAVAN 

That  makes  it  pretty  hot  in  here,  doesn't  it? 

THE    SHADOW 

[Hovering  over  the  child.] 

To  hold  this  would  be  so  wonderful — see  round, 
blue,  glistening!  (She  waves  it  rhythmically.  The 
child  follows  it  with  his  eyes.) 

THE    FAST    MAIL 

[Passing  Wheatlands,  forty-five  miles  away.'] 
Ooooo-ee !     Ooooo-ee !     Ooh-ooh ! 


72  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 

GALLOWAY 

[The  engineer,  wiping  the  dust  out  of  the  cor- 
ners  of  his  eyes  and  turning  to  PETERSEN.] 
Remember  that   cow  we  killed  at  Ellworth   two 
years  ago? 

PETERSEN 

[Shoveling  coal  at  his  feet.] 
Yay-o. 

GALLOWAY 

[Proudly.] 

They  collected  sixty  dollars  for  that — so  I  under 
stand.  Utterson  was  telling  me  here  a  few  days  ago. 
{He  sticks  his  head  out  of  a  window  and  surveys  the 
elbow  of  a  stream  that  comes  into  view,  then  with 
draws  it.)  I  never  saw  a  cow  tossed  clean  up  in  the 
air  before.  Her  tail  stood  out  as  straight  as  a  stick. 
(He  smiles  and  whistles  for  a  crossing.) 

DELATAN 

[Arising  and  shaking  off  the  crumbs.] 
Well,  I'd  better  be  going  now,  I  guess.     (He  takes 
down  his  hat  and  coat. )    I  don't  see  why  he  shouldn't 
play  in  the  yard  if  we  can  keep  the  gate  shut.     (He 
goes  out.) 

HARRY 

[Fifteen    minutes    later,    hanging    around    his 
mother's  skirt.] 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  73 

Ma,  I  promised  to  pitch  at  a  ball  game  at  two 
o'clock.    Can  I  go  ? 


HIS    MOTHER 


[Wearily,  but  sympathetically.] 
If  you'll  promise  me  faithfully  to  be  back  at  five. 
You  know  what  your  father  told  you  the  other  day. 
You  ought  to  really  stay  here  and  help  me  mind  the 
baby.     (He  takes  his  cap  and  goes.) 


THE    SHADOW 


[Moving  before  him  to  the  gate."] 
Forget  the  gate !    Forget  the  gate !     (He  goes  out, 
leaving  the  gate  open.) 


THE    FAST    MATL 


[Passing  Hunt  erst  own,  thirty- five  miles  away.] 
Oooo-ee !     Ooooo-ee !     Ooh-ooh ! 


MRS.    DELAVAN 

[Entering  the  front  room  for  a  moment.] 
And  now  I  have  that  mending  to  do.     And  those 
pies.     I  think  I'll  do  the  mending  first — no ;  I'll  make 
the  pies  first.     (She  returns  to  the  kitchen.) 


74  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 


THE    SHADOW 


[Retreating  before  her.~\ 

I'll  watch  the  child!     Forget  him!     Forget  him! 
[MRS.  DELAVAN  commences  paring  apples,  all 
thought  of  the  child  passing  from  her.] 


THE    SHADOW 


[Before  the  baby  on  the 
Come! 

[THE  MONSTROSITY  crawls  eagerly  after.] 


THE    FAST    MAIL 


[Passing  Palmer's  Station,  fifteen  miles  away.~\ 
Ooooo-ee !    Oooo-ee !    Ooh-ooh ! 


GALLOWAY 


[Watching  a  red  barn  recede  in  the  distance. ,] 
Didjy  see  where  Esposito  got  thirty  days  for  that 
last  shindig  of  his? 


PETERSEN 


[Manifesting  a  proper  interest."} 
No !    You  don't  say !    When  did  that  happen? 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  75 

GALLOWAY 

[Loftily.] 

Oh,  last  Monday.  He  come  around  the  round 
house,  talkin'  his  usual  guff,  and  they  just  took  an' 
locked  him  up.  It's  thirty  days  for  him  now. 

PETERSEN 

[Reverently  and  righteously.] 
An'  it  serves  him  good  and  right,  I  say. 

GALLOWAY 

That's  what  7  say,  too.  These  dago  wipers! 
What  good  are  they? 

[He  blows  for  another  crossing.] 

MRS.    DELAVAN 

[Paring  in  her  kitchen.] 

These  apples  are  not  as  good  as  bell-flowers  for 
pies,  but  they'll  do. 

[She  casts  cores  and  peelings  away,  mixes  flour 
and  rolls  her  dough.] 

THE    SHADOW 

[Half  way  down  the  street  to  the  track,   the 

child  following.] 

Such  a  pretty  color.  Blue !  Blue  as  your  moth 
er's  eyes!  See  how  the  light  touches  it  here.  See 


76  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 

how  clear  it  is.     If  you  had  this  in  your  hands  you 
would  be  happy,  happy,  happy ! 

[The  Mid  crawls,  his  eyes  fixed  on  it.~\ 

MRS.    DELAVAN 

[Spreading  the  dough  for  the  third  pie.] 
This  dough  is  really  softer  than  it  ought  to  be. 
It's  so  hard  to  get  it  just  right.     Those  last  pies — 
[She  sprinkles  a  little  flour  on  it!~\ 

THE    SHADOW 

[Returning  for  a  second  and  holding  a  pink- 
flowered  dress  before  her  eyes.~\ 
Do  you  remember  this? 

MRS.    DELAVAN 

[A  vision  of  the  church  door  at  Clarendon,  a 
small  town  thirty  miles  away,  and  of  herself 
entering  it  in  this  very  dress,  and  Nate 
Saulsby  passing  her  and  looking  at  her  ad 
miringly,  filling  her  eyes.'] 

That  was  such  a  pretty  dress.  It  had  such  nice 
frilled  collars  and  cuffs.  I  wonder  how  Nate  is  doing 
now.  He  was  a  nice,  handsome,  clever  boy. 

[Shadows  of  other  girls  and  boys  troop  by — 
bits  of  crowds,  country  roads,  country 
squares,  a  panorama  of  half -for  gotten  faces 
and  places.] 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  77 

THE    SHADOW 

[As    MBS.    DELAVAN    dreams    and    the    child 

crawls.~\ 

This  ball  is  so  perfect  that  if  you  had  it  you  would 
be  happy  for  ever  and  ever.  It  is  perpetual  joy,  the 
color  of  peace.  No  need  to  seek  for  happiness  else 
where.  Follow  this — but  take  it  from  my  hands,  you 
will  be  happy.  See — 

[She  waves  it  near,  then  far,  then  near,  then 
far.] 

THE    MONSTROSITY 

Ooogh !    Bubblum ! 


THE    FAST    MAIL 

[Passing  Rutland,  five  miles 
Ooooo-ee !     Ooooo-ce !     Ooh-ooh ! 

THE    SHADOW 

Just  a  little  farther!    Soon  you  will  have  it  now. 
Soon  I  will  give  it  to  you.    When  we  reach  the  cor 
ner,  when  we  get  there  where  the  steel  rails  shine — I 
will  give  it  to  you.     Isn't  it  perfect!    Isn't  it  blue! 
See  how  the  light  falls  through  it — clear  as  water. 
[She  trips  gaily  backward,  waving  the  sphere 
before  her  from  side  to  side.] 


78  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 


THE    FAST    MAIL 


[Entermg  the  environs  of  Marydale  at  fifty 

miles  an  hour  and  only  a  mile  away.] 
Ooooo-ee !    Oooooo-ee !    Ooh-ooh ! 


THE    SHADOW 

[Hovering  above  the  tracks  a  few  feet  in  front 

of  the  child. ~\ 

See,  when  you  get  here,  right  here,  I  will  give  it 
to  you.  The  beautiful  ball!  The  beautiful  sphere! 
This  you  are  to  have  when  you  get  here — here !  You 
will  be  so  happy. 

[She  coaxes,   smiles  and  pleads.      THE   MON 
STROSITY  follows.] 

PETERSEN 

[To  GALLOWAY,  as  he  notes  the  outlying  houses 

and  ringing  the  bell.] 

I  see  they  haven't  started  on  that  siding  yet  here. 
They  were  to  begin  yesterday,  so  Jaycox  said. 

GALLOWAY 

[On  his  seat  by  the  window,  a  look  of  serene 

content  on  his  face.] 

So  I  see.  They  couldn't  get  done  at  Linden,  I 
suppose.  (He  shifts  his  position  for  comfort  and 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  79 

prepares  to  maintain  silence  as  the  train  rounds  a 
curve  and  the  Wood  Street  crossing  comes  into  view. 
Noting  a  wagon  waiting  at  a  minor  crossing)  :  They 
ought  to  put  a  gate  or  two  more  in  this  town.  They 
need  them.  (He  blows  the  whistle.) 


THE    SHADOW 

[Hovering  above  THE  MONSTROSITY,  the  blue 

sphere  in  her  hand.~\ 

Just  a  little  farther,  dearest.  Only  a  little  more, 
and  then —  , 

[The  child  crawls  out  on  the  tracks  as  the  en 
gine  rounds  the  curve,  eight  hundred  feet 
away.~\ 

GALLOWAY 

[Stiffening.'] 

By  God!  I  believe  that's  a  child  on  the  track! 
Shake  down  the  sand,  will  you?  It  is,  as  I  live.  Oh, 
Jesus ! 

[He  reverses  the  lever  and  throws  on  the  air 
brakes.'] 

PETERSEN 

[Leaping  to  the  sand  box.~[ 
Can't  you  stop  her? 


80  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 


GALLOWAY 


[As  the  engine  grinds  and  clanks,  a  frozen  grip 

on  the  throttle.'] 
No,  by  God!     It's  too  late!! 
[The  engine  strikes. ] 


THE    SHADOW 

[Tossing  the  blue  ball  in  the  air.'] 
There,  my  sweet,  it  is  yours ! 

[The  ball  falls  into  the  child's  hand*.] 

MRS.    DELAY  AN 

[Hearing    the    whistle    and    shaking    off    her 

dreams.] 

The  express  !  The  baby !  Good  gracious  !  Where 
is  it!  (She  runs  to  the  door,  the  gate,  the  street.) 
Eddie!  Eddie!  Where  is  he,  anyway? 

[She  notes  the  train  grinding  to  a  stop  at  the 
corner  and  runs  in  that  direction.  A  cold 
trembling  seizes  upon  her.] 

GALLOWAY 

[Holding  the  air  brake  in  a  cutting  grip,  his 

face  drawn  and  yellow.] 

I  saw  its  face !  I  saw  its  face !  I  tell  you !  A 
beautiful  child!  I  can  never  forgive  myself  for  this. 


THE  BLUE  SPHERE  81 

Just  a  little  baby,  too.    Not  more  than  two  or  three 

years  old. 

[He  drops  down  as  the  tram  stops  and.  runs 
back — the  conductor,  trainmen  and  passen 
gers  join.  A  large  crowd,  gesticulating  and 
exclaiming,  gathers.] 

A    SCORE    OF    PASSENGERS 

How  dreadful !    How  terrible !    What  a  pity ! 
{Two  women  faint. ] 

GALLOWAY 

[Explaining.  ] 

I  didn't  see  it  until  we  was  right  on  it.     I  have 
three  little  ones  of  my  own. 

MRS.    DELAY AN 

[Frantically  making  her  way  forward  and  fall 
ing  on  her  knees.] 
My  Eddie!    My  Eddie! 

[She  screams  hysterically  and  bends  over.] 

THE    SHADOW 

[Appearing  to  the  bereft  mother  as  she  weeps 

Over  the  broken  body.] 
It  is  here,  it  is  here,  don't  you  see ! 

[The  baby,  holding  the  blue  sphere,  appears  to 
the  mother's  eyes.  It  smiles.] 


82  THE  BLUE  SPHERE 

THE    CONDUCTOR 

[To  a  passenger,  as  the  train  moves  slowly  and 

then  a  little  faster.'] 

Well,  it's   a  God's  blessing  if  a  child  had  to  be 
killed  it  was  a  deformed  one,  anyway. 

A    PASSENGER 

You're  right  there. 

GAI/LOWAY 

[A  heavy,  weary  look  on  his  face.] 
And  I  thought  I  was  looking!     The  first  child  I 
ever  killed  in  my  fifteen  years! 


CURTAIN 


Ill 

LAUGHING  GAS 


CHARACTERS 

JASON  JAMES  VATABEEL,  an  eminent  physician. 

FENWAY  BAIL,  a  celebrated  surgeon. 

ARTHUR   GALLEY,   house  physician   of    the   Michael 

Slade  Memorial  Hospital. 
SLASON  TUFTS,  his  assistant. 
FRANKLIN  DRYDEN,  an  anesthetist. 
DEMYAPHON   [nitrous  oxide\^  an  element  of  cliem- 

istry. 
ALCEPHORAN,  a  power  of  physics. 

Shadows  and  voices  of  the  first,  second,  third 
and  fourth  planes.  Nurses  and  internes  of 
the  Michael  Slade  Hospital.  The  Rhythm 
of  the  Universe. 


LAUGHING   GAS 

SCENE 

The  operating-room,  of  the  Michael  Slade  Hos 
pital,  a  glistening  chamber  of  white  porcelain 
and  white  tile.  Nickel  operating  table  in  the 
foreground.  Racks  of  surgical  implements 
and  supplies  to  either  side.  A  strong,  even 
light  from  the  north  French  windows.  At 
tendants  in  white  bustlmg  about  preparatory 
to  an  operation.  Enter  FENWAY  BAIL,  an 
eminent  surgeon,  and  JASON  JAMES  VATA- 
BEEL,  his  friend,  a  celebrated  physician. 
They  are  -followed  by  ARTHUR  GAILEY,  chief 
house  physician ;  SLASON  TUFTS,  his  assist 
ant;  FRANKLIN  DRYDEN,  the  anesthetist,  and 
two  nurses. 

BAIL 

[A  cool,  sallow-faced,  collected  man  of  perhaps 

fifty- five,  wise  and  incisive.'] 

Well,  Jason,  here  you  are,  a  victim  of  surgery 
after  all! 

85 


86  LAUGHING  GAS 

VATABEEL 

[Tall,  gaunt,  all  of  fifty-eight,  very  distin 
guished,  a  little  pale  from  recent  suffering,  a 
bandage  about  his  neck,  beginning  to  loosen 
his  shirt  in  front.] 

The  last  time  I  took  ether  I  had  a  very  strange 
experience  or  dream,  one  of  the  best  of  the  etheric 
variety,  I  fancy.  I  am  wondering  whether  it  will  re 
peat  itself  today. 

BAIL 
[Examining  a   case  of  instruments,  and  busy 

with  asides  to  GAILEY  and  others.] 

I  was  thinking  of  using  nitrous  oxide,  unless  you 

would  prefer  ether.     It  seems  to  me  a  little  too  much 

for  a  minor  operation.     I  doubt  whether  I  shall  be 

four  or  five  minutes  in  all.    Just  as  you  say,  however. 

VATABEEL 

{With  a  dry,  medical  smile. ,] 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  demand  ether.  I  dislike  the 
stuff  intensely. 

[He  begins  to  lake  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat 
and  adjusts  an  aseptic  apron.] 

BAIL 

[To  GAILEY.] 

I  shall  want  a  retractor,  clamps  and  thumb  for 
ceps.  Are  all  the  different  ligatures  here?  Ah,  yes, 


LAUGHING  GAS  87 

I  see.  (To  VATABEEL)  :  Now,  Doctor,  if  you  will 
just  make  yourself  comfortable.  (He  indicates  the 
operating  table.) 

VATABEEL 

[Opening  the  neck  of  his  undershirt  and  sitting 

down  on  the  edge  of  the  operating  table.'] 
I  never  imagined  a  small  tumor  could  be  so  trou 
blesome.      (To  BAIL)  :     This  is  where  Greek  meets 
Greek,  isn't  it? 

BAIL 

[When  GAILEY  has  unfastened  the  bandage 
around  VATABEEL'S  neck,  pressing  the  tumor 
lightly  with  his  forefinger.'] 

But  not  bearing  gifts  unfortunately — at  least,  not 
pleasant  ones.  This  seems  to  be  doing  very  well ;  no 
inflammation. 

VATABEEL 

[Stretching  himself  comfortably,  with,  however, 
a  sense  of  impending  disaster  or  the  possibil 
ity  of  it.~\ 
At  least  this  is  the  end  of  my  bother  with  it. 

[The  gas  tank  is  wheeled  forward,  the  breathing 
cap  adjusted.] 

THE    ANESTHETIST 

[Taking  his  place  at  the  doctor-patient's  head.~] 
Now,  Doctor,  if  you  please.     We  are  only  using 


88  LAUGHING  GAS 

one-fourth  strength  to  begin  with.    And  don't  forget 
the  forefinger. 

VAT AB EEL 

[Beginning  to  inhale  and  thinking  of  the  mys 
teries  of  medicine  and  surgery  and  gases — to 
himself.  ] 

Ah,  yes,  the  forefinger.  I  must  keep  that  going, 
or  try  to,  until  the  gas  overpowers  me  and  I  can  no 
longer  do  it.  When  it  drops  of  its  own  accord  they 
will  know  I  am  unconscious.  Marvelous  progress 
medicine  has  made  in  these  last  few  years !  It  hasn't 
been  ten  years  since  we  had  to  administer  ether  and 
gas  full  strength  because  we  didn't  know  how  to  di 
lute  them.  And  there  weren't  any  anesthetists.  ( He 
begins  to  crook  his  finger.) 

THE    ANESTHETIST 

[One  finger  on  VATABEEL'S  pulse,  the  other  on 

the  siphon  regulator, ,] 

That's  very  nice,  Doctor,  excellent.  Breathe  very 
deeply,  please — as  deep  as  possible. 

VATABEEL 

[Continuing  his  thoughts,  but  taking  a  deep, 

•full  breath.] 

How  self-contained  and  executive  these  young  be 
ginners  are — just  as  I  was  in  my  day!  Thus  the 


LAUGHING  GAS  89 

control  of  the  world  passes  from  generation  to  gen 
eration. 

[His  face  and  ears  begin  to  tingle.  The  fumes 
of  the  gas  reach  his  brain.  A  warm,  delight 
ful  stupor  overcomes  him.  He  imagines  he 
is  moving  his  forefinger,  but  he  is  not.~\ 

GAILEY 

[Noting  the  change. ,] 

Very  full  breath,  Doctor,  if  you  please.  Keep  the 
finger  moving  as  long  as  you  are  conscious.  (The 
finger  moves  feebly  once  or  twice;  then  ceases.  The 
arms  and  legs  become  inert.) 

THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Cm! 
Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om! 

VATABEEL 

[Functioning  through  the  spirit  only,  conscious 
of  tremendous  speed,  tremendous  space,  and 
figures  gathered  around  him  in  the  gloom.'] 
Strange !  Wonderful !  Astounding !  This  is  the 
same  place  I  was  in  when  I  was  operated  on  before. 
These  are  the  same  people.  I  hear  voices.  A  most 
impressive  company!  (The  figures  begin  to  con 
verse.)  This  is  immensity — all  space — that  sur- 


90  LAUGHING  GAS 

rounds  me.  I  am  not  alive,  really,  and  yet  I  am.  Am 
I  so  important  as  this?  How  dark,  and  yet  how 
strangely  light!  {Feels  a  sense  of  great  heaviness 
and  great  speed.)  This  operating  table  is  moving 
like  lightning!  Who  are  these  people  about  me,  not 
Bail  or  Gailey?  (He  thinks  to  see,  but  cannot.) 
This  is  something  else.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  come  out 
of  this !  Oh,  the  terror !  I  really  don't  want  to  die ! 
I  can't!  There  are  so  many  things  I  want  to  do. 
People  do  die  under  the  influence  of  gas. 

[The  arc  of  his  flight  bisects  the  first  of  a  series 
of  astral  planes.] 

ALCEPHORAN 

[A  power  of  physics  without  form  or  substance, 
generating  and  superimposing  ideas  without 
let  or  hindrance.     They  come  without  word 
or  form  and  take  possession  as  a  mood  and 
as  understanding  without  thought^] 
Deep,  deep  and  involute  are  the  ways  and  the  sub 
stance  of  things.     Oh,  endless  reaches!     Oh,  endless 
order!     Oh,  endless  disorder!     Death  without  life! 
Life  without  death !    A  sinking !    A  rising !    An  end 
less  sinking !    An  endless  rising ! 

THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om! 


LAUGHING  GAS  91 

BAIL 

[Turning  from  the  examination  of  the  instru 
ments  and  examining  the  eyes  of  VATABEEL, 
turning  the  lids  up;  to  himself.] 
A  remarkable  man,  very.     Such  sacrifices  for  his 
profession!    How  persistently  he  has  scorned  money. 
Great,  and  poor — that  is  my  idea  of  a  physician. 
(To  the  anesthetist)     How  is  he  now,  Doctor? 

DRYDEN 

[Who  is  holding  VATABEEL  s  left  wrist. ,] 
Very  good,  I  think.     (He  looks  at  GAILEY  for  con 
firmation.)     His  pulse  is  one  hundred  and  ten.     His 
blood  pressure  seventy. 

GAILEY 

He  is  quite  under. 

BAIL 

[Lifting  an  arm  and  dropping  it.~\ 
Excellent!     (To  GAILEY  and  TUFTS.)     Turn  him 
on  his  right  side,  please.    The  scalpel  and  the  retrac 
tor,  please. 

[He  takes  up  a  scalpel  and  makes  an  incision 
one  and  one-half  inches  long  by  one-half  inch 
deep.  TUFTS  sponges  the  blood.] 


92  LAUGHING  GAS 

VATABEEL 

[An  inert  mass  carried  in  the  line  of  the  earth's 
arc  and  becoming  conscious  of  it,  but  uncon 
scious  of  pain.] 

Oh,  wonderful,  wonderful!  They  are  talking!  It 
is  light!  It  is  dark!  What  is  that  they  are  saying? 
This  rhythmic  beat  is  so  strange! 

[The  arc  of  the  earth  bisects  a  second  plane. ,] 

THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Dm!  Dm!  Om! 
Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om! 

FIRST    SHADOW 

[Of  the  second  astral  plane;  a  tall,  grave  man,    ?, 
seemingly  with  heavy  dark  whiskers  and  hair    \ 
and  deep   blue  eyes,   surveying   VATABEEI/S    i 
body  as  it  speeds  onward  and  he  with  it."] 
This  man  is  of  the  greatest  import,  scientifically 
speaking,  to  his  day.     His  trouble  relates  to  Vale 
rian,  an  element  inimical  to  him.     It  is  more  serious 
than  he  thinks.     It  may  be  that  he  will  not  live.     It 
may  be  that  Valerian  is  unalterably  opposed  to  him. 
[The  voice  becomes  confused  with  other  voices. 
.  Shadows  gather  about  as  though  in  confer 
ence.     The  operating  table  sweeps  on  at  lim 
itless  speed.] 


LAUGHING  GAS  93 

THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVEESE 

Om!  Om!  Om!  Om! 


SECOND    SHADOW 

[Seemingly  near;  a  surgeon  in  contact  with  the 

wound.] 

Very  serious  !  Very  serious !  It  lies  closer  to  the 
large  artery  than  they  think.  In  fact,  it  surrounds 
it.  A  separating  shield  may  help.  This  man  should 
not  pe  permitted  to  end  yet.  He  is  of  great  import 
to  life. 

[Other  figures  gather  about  in  the  gloom  and 
confer.  The  shadow  increases.  The  voices 
cease. ~\ 


ALCEPHORAN 

No  high,  no  low!  No  low,  no  high!  Time  with 
out  measure,  measure  without  time.  A  rising,  a  sink 
ing  !  An  endless  rising,  and  an  endless  sinking ! 


VATABEEL 

[Experiencing  a  vast  depression  as  of  endless 

space  and  unutterable  loneliness. ] 
Ah!!! 


94  LAUGHING  GAS 

THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

Om!  Om!  Om!  Om! 

[The  earth  sweeps  onward  in  its  arc,  bisecting 
a  third  plane. ~\ 

BAIL 

[Inserting  a  surgical  spoon  and  scraping  out 

the  wound.] 

This  thing  is  somewhat  more  serious  than  I 
thought.  I  believe  the  tumor  surrounds  the  large  ar 
tery.  It  has  ramifications  I  hadn't  thought  were 
here.  (To  GAILEY  and  one  of  the  Nurses,  bending 
over.)  Here  are  two  side  pockets  to  the  left  and  one 
just  below.  And  another !  We'll  have  to  tie  up  some 
of  these  veins  before  I  can  go  any  farther.  This  ar 
tery  is  abnormally  near  the  surface,  to  begin  with. 
How  is  his  pulse? 

[He  talks  as  he  works,  holding  a  bit  of  tissue 
up  to  the  light,  catching  vein  ends  with  hemo- 
stats9  while  GAILEY  ties  the  knots  with  silk 
thread  and  the  Nurses  pass  thread  and 
sponges.] 

DRYDEN 

[In  charge  of  the  tank  and  -feeding  cone.] 
One  hundred  and  ten. 


LAUGHING  GAS  95 

BAIL 

[To  himself.'] 
Excellent. 

VATABEEI, 

[Sensing  the  line  of  the  arc  of  his  flight  to  be 

upward  as  yet] 

Strange,  I  feel  so  comfortable,  yet  so  helpless — 
Jason  James  Vatabeel,  physician  extraordinary,  sci 
entist.  Of  so  much  importance.  Will  I  live?  Will  I 
die?  Life  is  so  treacherous,  so  sad! 


FIRST    SHADOW 

[Central  figure  of  a  new  group,  and  a  surgeon — 
as  the  operating  table  rushes  into  a  new 
realm.]  * 

Difficult !  Difficult !  This  man  is  in  a  very  serious 
condition — much  more  serious  than  he  imagines.  The 
envy  of  elements !  His  services  to  life  are  in  great 
danger.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  can  return  to  the 
world. 

[He  shakes  his  head  with  grave,  oppressive  so 
lemnity,  while  the  other  shadows  seem  to  lis 
ten  and  articulate.] 


THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om! 


96  LAUGHING  GAS 


ALCEPHORAN 


Deep  below  deep !  High  above  high !  No  high ! 
No  low!  Space  beyond  space!  Singleness  without 
unity !  Unity  without  singleness ! 


VATABEEL 

[Awed  and  disturbed  by  the  rush  and  confu 
sion.'} 

Spirits  of  the  first  order  of  earthly  council.  This 
mystery  of  living,  how  I  have  pondered  it!  Vast 
orders  and  powers  of  which  I  know  nothing.  The 
terror  of  the  after  life — what  may  it  be — Death? 
Annihilation?  No  continuance? — Forever  and  ever? 
And  in  life  itself — the  mystery  of  the  blood,  of  ar 
ticulated  bones,  of  organized  society.  Poverty, 
waste,  hunger,  pain,  wealth,  sickness,  health — I  have 
tried  to  think  there  was  some  good  in  what  I've  done. 
Vanity,  hate,  love,  greed,  patience,  generosity.  My 
fame  is  so  wide,  I  know  so  little.  {He  sighs  deeply.) 
Ah! 

GAILEY 

{Noting  the  tendency  toward  greater  vitality, 

and  so  toward  consciousness.] 
A  little  more  gas,  perhaps.    This  cutting  is  affect 
ing  him. 


LAUGHING  GAS  97 

DRYDEN 

[Administering  more.] 
I  think  so. 

BAIL 

[Gouging  at  a  second  sac.~\ 

This  is  apt  to  shake  him  a  little.  Perhaps  ether 
would  have  been  better,  after  all.  It  is  going  to  take 
longer  than  I  thought.  How  is  your  oxygen? 

[He  is  thinking  of  how  much  gas  will  have  to 
be  administered  and  how  much  oxygen  may  be 
required  to  restore  the  patient.] 

DRYDEN 

[Who  has  received  his  supply  from  the  institu 
tion.] 

All  right,  I  think.  (He  tries  it.  The  examination 
proves  that  it  is  dangerously  low.  To  WILLIAMS,  his 
assistant.)  See  if  you  can  find  another  tank. 

[BAIL  frowns  slightly,  unconsciously  irritated 
by  the  unpreparedness.~\ 

SECOND    SHADOW 

[Of  the  second  group — a  stern,  almost  invisible 

figure.] 

I  perceive  near  the  cardiac  region  a  tendency  to 
weakness  which  is  affected  by  gas.  His  condition  is 
serious.  Powers  inimical  and  above  us  are  at  this 


98  LAUGHING  GAS 

moment  producing  error.  This  man  is  a  powerful 
thinker  and  original  investigator.  Of  him  much 
might  be  expected. 

[The  operating  table  sweeps  on.    The  RHYTHM 
OF  THE  UNIVERSE  asserts  it  self. ~\ 


VATABEEL 

\In  vast  depression,  lying  as  under  an  immense, 

suffocating  weight']. 

Precarious !  Precarious !  And  I  do  not  want  to 
die.  I  have  so  much  to  live  for,  so  much  fame  to  seek, 
so  much  to  do.  (He  sighs  again.) 

DEMYAPHON 

[Nitrous  oxide,  also  with  the  power  of  generat 
ing  and  superimposing  huge  ideas  without  let 
or  hindrance,  the  capacity  of  the  individual 
permitting.      They   come   without   word   or 
form,  taking  possession  as  a  mood  or  as  un 
derstanding  without  thought. ~\ 
So  life  is  to  be  studied,  and  what  for  ?    Your  little 
experiments !    What  do  they  teach  you  ?     You  seek 
to  find  out,  to  know ! 

THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

Om!   Om!   Om!   Om! 


LAUGHING  GAS  99 

ALCEPHORAN 

[At  an  angle  to  the  waves  of  DEMYAPHON.] 
Vast !    Vast !    Vast !    Measure  without  time — time 
without  measure! 

DRYDEN 

[Noting  VATABEEI/S  pulse   to   be  greatly  de 
pressed  and  shutting  off  the  gas,  at  the  same 
time  turning  on  the  remaining  oxygen.] 
My  assistant  is  long  about  that  oxygen.     See  if 
you  can  find  him,  Miss  Karns. 
[A  nurse  departs  hurriedly.] 

BAIL 

[Realizing  that  he  has  a  much  more  treacherous 
situation  at  hand  than  he  had  imagined  and 
anxious  for  the  security  of  his  patient;  to  the 
anesthetist.] 

Don't  let  him  get  too  low,  Doctor.  It  is  these  e:sE* 
tra  pockets.  I  shall  be  done  shortly.  (He  hastens 
his  efforts.) 

DRYDEN 

[Becoming  disturbed  over  the  delay  of  the  oxy 
gen,  and  lifting  an  eyelid  to  observe  the  con 
dition  of  the  patient's  eyes.] 
Hm!     I  don't  like  the  look  of  that.     (Aloud.) 
Chafe  his  feet,  Miss  Hale.    You  had  better  move  his 
arm  up  and   down.      (The  oxygen  gives  out.)      I 
don't  understand  this  oxygen  business. 


100  LAUGHING  GAS 

MISS    EARNS 

[Returning.] 

They  have  allowed  the  storeroom  on  this  floor  to 
run  out.  He  has  gone  to  the  basement  in  the  next 
building. 

DEYDEN 

[Snapping  his  teeth.] 

Run  and  tell  him  to  hurry — please.  I  am  all  out. 
(She  departs.) 

DEMYAPHON 

[Appearing   only   as    thoughts   placed   in   the 

dreamers  mmd.~\ 

There  is  a  solution,  but  you  will  never  be  able  to 
guess  it.  It  is  ages  beyond  a  growth,  which,  when  it 
is  passed,  you  will  be  unable  to  remember.  Eons 
upon  eons,  worlds  upon  worlds.  Far  and  above  the 
mysteries  here  and  below  are  other  mysteries 
— deep,  deep.  You  puzzle  over  the  phenomena 
of  man.  In  a  vain,  critical,  cynical  ambitious 
way  you  dream.  It  will  all  be  wiped  out  and 
forgotten.  To  that  which  you  seek  there  is  no  solu 
tion.  A  tool,  a  machine,  you  spin  and  spin  on  a 
given  course  through  new  worlds  and  old.  Vain, 
vain!  For  you  there  is  no  great  end. 

[A  sense  of  ruthless  indifference,  inutility,  fu 
tility,  overcomes  the  spirit  of  VATABEEL.] 


LAUGHING  GAS  101 

THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

Oin!  Om!  Om!  Om! 

ALCEPHORAN 

Behind,  before,  beneath,  above,  presence  without 
reality — reality  without  presence. 

FIRST    SHADOW 

[Pi  a  third  group,  vague  yet  clear,  young,  ex 
perimental,  curious,  indifferent,  obviously  op 
erating  as  a  surgeon  in  charge.'} 
We  shall  soon  be  done  with  this  now.     He  bleeds 
a  lot,  doesn't  he?     A  bony  old  duffer!     A  ligature, 
please.     A  hemostat.     I  don't  see  why  I  should  have 
been  given  this  to  do.     They  say  he  is  needed.     (He 
seems  to  bend  over.    Other  faces  are  near.) 

SECOND    SHADOW 

[Seemingly  operating  in  charge  of  the  gas  and 

nose  coneJ\ 

It  looks  as  though  this  gas  might  prove  too  much, 
Doctor.     His  pulse  is  a  little  feeble. 

FIRST    SHADOW 

[Indifferently.  ] 
That  can't  be.    We  are  two  periods  this  side  the 


102  LAUGHING  GAS 

danger  mark  on  this  plane.    We  can  leave  him  until 
he  reaches  the  next  one.     He's  safe  enough. 

[The  operating  table,  like  a  bier,  rushes  on. 
The  shadows  recede.  Once  more  darkness 
and  space,  and  a  sense  of  rigidity  and  tomb- 
like  confinement.] 

THE    ANESTHETIST 

[Anxiously. 1 

Will  you  please  go  and  see  what's  keeping  them, 
Miss  Hale?  He  can't  stand  this  much  longer.  His 
pulse  is  one  hundred  and  forty  now. 

[Miss  Hale  dashes  from  the  room.  BAIL,  con 
scious  of  the  lapse  of  oxygen  gas,  increases 
his  efforts  to  clean  and  close  the  wound.] 

THE    RHYTHM    OP    THE    UNIVERSE 

Om!  Om!  Om!  Om! 

DEMYAPHON 

[Continumg.~\ 

So  complicated  that  even  the  littlest  things  con 
cerning  man  you  cannot  suspect.  You  think  of 
forces  as  immense,  silent,  conglomerate,  without 
thought,  humor  or  individuality.  I  am  a  force  with 
out  dimension  or  form,  yet  I  am  an  individuality, 
and  I  smile.  (A  sense  of  something — vast  and 


LAUGHING  GAS  103 

formless — cynically  smiling  comes  over  VATABEEL, 
though  he  cannot  conceive  how.  He  is  conscious  of 
a  desire  to  smile  also,  though  in  a  hopelessly  mechan 
ical  way.)  I  am  laughing  gas,  for  one  thing.  You 
will  laugh  with  me,  because  of  me,  shortly.  You  will 
not  be  able  to  help  yourself.  You  are  a  mere  ma 
chine  run  by  forces  which  you  cannot  understand. 
This  life  that  you  seek — you  may  have  it  on  con 
dition,  by  a  condition.  You  will  find  out  what  that 
is  a  little  later,  yet  you  will  not  know  for  certain. 


THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

Om!  Om!  Orn!  Om! 

FIRST    SHADOW 

[Of  a  fourth  group — a  young  doctor — material, 

much  more  material  than  the  last.] 
A  little  Valerian,  please.      Some   iodine.      Doing 
very  well,  don't  you  think,  Doctor? 

SECOND    SHADOW 

[In  charge  of  gas  and  feeder  cone.~\ 
I  am  not  so  sure,  Doctor.    You  will  have  to  hurry. 
He  isn't  very  strong.     He  should  have  been  taken 
care  of  on  the  last  plane.     His  eyelids — 


104  LAUGHING  GAS 

FIRST    SHADOW 

[Working  briskly  but  indifferently.] 
Nonsense !    That  can't  be.   He's  one  point  this  side 
the  danger  mark  on  this  plane.     No  hurry.     He'll 
do  well  enough. 

THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

Om!  Om!  Om!  Om! 

THIRD    SHADOW 

[A  nurse  suggestive  of  mild  materiality,  bend 
ing  over.] 

He's  sinking,  Doctor,  I  tell  you.  He  can't  go 
much  longer.  Look  at  his  hands!  Look  at  them! 
He  ought  to  be  hurried  to  the  earth  plane. 

[The  bier  rushes  on  into  space.    The  voices  fade 
and  cease.] 

THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

[Resuming.] 
Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om!  Om! 

ALCEPHORAN 

A  rising,  a  sinking!  An  endless  rising!  An  end 
less  sinking!  Outward  without  inward — inward 
without  outward. 


LAUGHING  GAS  105 

DEMYAPHON 

Material  planes  that  recede — each  one  more  ma 
terial  than  the  other,  as  you  sink  to  your  own.  Spir 
its  almost  more  material  than  yourself.  Because  of 
the  points  spoken  of  as  in  your  favor,  you  think  you 
will  regain  life.  You  do  not  know  that  they  are 
standards  set  by  you  in  previous  experiences,  eons 
apart.  To  live  you  will  have  to  attain  to  a  new  one 
now. 

VATABEEL 

Ah! 

DEMYAPHON 

Round  and  round,  operation  upon  operation, 
world  upon  world,  hither  and  yon,  so  you  come 
and  go.  The  same  difficulty,  the  same  operation, 
ages  and  worlds  apart.  Your  whole  life  repeated 
detail  by  detail  except  for  slight  changes.  Now  if 
you  live  you  must  make  an  effort  or  die.  (The  gas 
smiles. ) 

THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

Om!  Om!  Om!  Om! 


DRYDEN 

[To  GAILEY.] 
He  can't  get  back,  Doctor,  unless  we  get  the  oxy- 


106  LAUGHING  GAS 

gen  here  in  thirty  seconds.  This  tank  is  run  out. 
His  condition  is  desperate.  (He  does  the  nurse's 
work,  chafing  one  of  VATABEEI/S  hands;  to  himself)  : 
If  he  does,  it  will  be  the  most  wonderful  case  I  ever 
heard  of.  A  new  standard,  by  George.  (He  wipes 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow.) 

VATABEEL 

[Struggling   desperately    to   assist   himself   to 

live.] 

A  thing  of  the  spirit,  this,  plainly.  I  suppose  I 
am  a  test  but  how  futile  so  to  be.  Round  and  round 
and  round,  an  endless,  pointless  existence.  Yet  I 
cannot  help  myself.  I  must  live.  I  must  try.  I 
do  not  want  to  die.  (He  makes  a  great  effort,  con 
centrating  his  strength  on  the  thought  of  life.)  Oh 
how  ruthless  and  indifferent  it  all  is.  Think  of  our 
being  mere  machines  to  be  used  by  others!  (He 
struggles  again  without  physically  stirring.) 

MISS    KAENS    AND    MISS    HALE 

[Hurrying  in.] 
Here  it  comes  now ! 

THE    ASSISTANT 

[In  charge  of  tanks,  following.] 
I  had  to  go  to  the  second  building  for  the  key. 


LAUGHING  GAS  107 

The  floor  man  was  over  there.  (He  quickly  couples 
the  connections  and  the  oxygen  is  turned  on.)  Fine 
work,  I  call  that! 

DRYDEN 

[Bitterly.} 

What  a  system !  And  half  a  dozen  important  op 
erations  on  today!  (He  adjusts  the  cap  and  feeds 
the  oxygen,  full  force.) 

VATABEEL 

There  is  something  vastly  mysterious  about  this 
— horrible !  In  older  worlds  I  have  been,  worlds  like 
this.  I  have  done  this  same  thing.  Society  has  done 
all  the  things  it  has  done  over  and  over.  We  manu 
facture  toys — the  same  toys  over  and  over.  Does 
Life  produce  its  worlds  and  evolutions  the  same  way  ? 
Great  God! 

DEMYAPHON 

[Cynically.] 

The  resistance  which  you  are  now  displaying  is  i& 
part  by  reason  of  your  previous  efforts  and  previ 
ous  successes.  You  are  the  victim  of  experiences 
of  which  you  have  been  made  the  victim.  A  patient, 
a  subject,  a  tool,  a  method,  round  and  round  and 
round  you  go,  a  servant  of  higher  forces,  each  time 
seemingly  a  step  farther,  each  time  in  this  way,  for 
the  same  purpose,  the  same  people,  to  no  known  end, 
over  and  over. 


108  LAUGHING  GAS 

VATABEEL 
Ah! 

THE    RHYTHM    OF    THE    UNIVERSE 

Om ! Om ! Om ! Om ! 

GAILEY 

[Disturbed  by  his  weakened  condition,  and  un 
certain  whether  or  not  he  can  be  revived.] 
I  am  afraid  that  you  will  have  to  hurry,  Doctor. 
He  is  very  weak.     His  pulse  is  scarcely  distinguish 
able. 

BAIL 

[Desperately  scraping  the  last  pocket  and  ty 
ing  the  veins. 1 

I  am  not  supposed  to  be  handicapped  by  poor  ser 
vice  in  this  institution.  Try  to  hold  him  a  few  mo 
ments.  (To  TUFTS)  :  Sponge!  (To  the  first  nurse)  : 
Scissors ! 

FIRST    SHADOW 

[Of  a  fourth  group  just  outside  the  gates  of 
life,  a  very  material  young  doctor,  whose 
hands  and  white  uniform  are  almost  lumi 
nous.] 

Say,  there  isn't  so  much  to  do  here — is  there?  A 
few  stitches.  Those  veins  ought  to  be  clamped, 
though.  (He  works  briskly,  lightly,  with  an  inconse 
quential  air.)  He'll  do  all  right,  don't  you  think? 


LAUGHING  GAS  109 

SECOND    SHADOW 

[At  the  gas  tank.] 

Pretty  weak,  I  should  say.  Gad,  yes!  He  may 
hold  out,  though.  They  didn't  shut  off  the  gas  on 
the  last  plane — that's  a  good  sign.  They  usually 
do  if  it's  serious.  He's  just  at  the  turning  point. 


THIRD    SHADOW 

[A  nurse  apparently  impressed  by  the  'uncer 
tainty  of  the  occasion.'] 

He's  very  low,  I  tell  you,  Doctor.  Look  at  his 
nails.  You'd  better  shut  off  the  gas.  He's  nearly 
all  in !  Look  at  his  eyes !  He's  william,  I  tell  you. 
He's  william.  He  can't  live  thirty  seconds  more. 

[An  intense,  disturbed  rate  of  vibration  indi 
cates  crisis.  The  second  shadow  shuts  off 
the  gas.  The  operating  table  rushes  on  mto 
darkness.] 

VATABEEL 

[Thinking.] 

On,  on — and  I  am  now  to  die — I  am  dying,  unless  I 
can  help  myself!  An  endlessly  serviceable  victim — 
an  avatar!  The  mystery  of  life — its  gloomy  com 
plications!  But  I  don't  want  to  die!  I  won't  die. 
(He  concentrates  vigorously  on  the  thought  of  life.) 


110  LAUGHING  GAS 

DEMYAPHON 

[Smiling.] 

The  points  which  you  established  on  your  previ 
ous  circuit  of  this  orbit  of  materiality,  and  which 
have  been  counting  in  your  favor,  have  now  been  ex 
hausted.  This  safety  mark,  which  you  have  heard 
frequently  mentioned,  you  yourself  established.  If 
you  live  it  will  be  by  setting  a  new  standard  — 
rendering  a  new  service  but  in  an  old  way  —  over  and 
over  and  over.  Unless  you  struggle  to  live  —  unless 
you  succeed  in  living  — 

VARIOUS    VOICES 

Try,  oh  try,  oh  try  !    You,  above  all  others  ! 

[VATABEEL,  senses  some  vast,  generic,  undeci 
pherable  human  need.  He  wishes  to  weep, 
but  cannot.'] 

THE   RHYTHM  OF   THE   UNIVERSE 

Om!  Om!  Om!  Om! 

[A  sense  of  derision,  of  indifference,  of  universal 
terror  and  futility,  fills  VATABEEL.  Suffocat 
ing,  he  tries  to  move.] 


ALCEPHORAN 


Deep  below  deep  !    High  above  high  !  no  beginning, 
no  end  !     No  end  —  no  beginning  ! 


LAUGHING  GAS  111 

VATABEEL 

[Terrified  and  yet  seemingly  helpless.] 
The  dark !    The  dark !    The  ultimate  dark !    Plane 
upon  plane !    Eon  upon  eon !    To  do  over  and  over ! 
Or  annihilation !    Why — oh — why.     But  I  won't  die. 
I  can't.     (He  struggles  again.) 


DEMYAPHON 

It  has  no  meaning !  Over  and  over !  Round  and 
round!  The  orbit  of  which  you  are  a  part  brings 
you  back  and  back  again  and  again  in  non-under 
standing.  (The  thought  seems  to  become  rhythmic 
and  painful.) 

VATABEEL 

[Struggling.] 

Am  I  really  to  die?  Oh,  no!!  What  if  I  do 
go  round  and  round!  I  am  a  man!  Life  is  sweet, 
intense,  perfect!  If  I  do  go  round  and  round,  what 
of  it?  Beyond  this,  what?  Nothing!  I  serve ! 

[He  stirs.  His  spirit  struggles  with  material 
ity.  The  vital  spark  is  rekindled  within  the 
inert  frame.  With  a  gigantic  effort,  it  re 
establishes  itself  and  resumes  control  and  res 
piration.  The  effort  to  inhale,  feeble  at  the 
surface  of  materiality,  is  immense] 


LAUGHING  GAS 


DRYDEN 

[Working  the  one  free  arm  as  vigorously  as 
possible,  while  Miss  HALE  and  Miss  KARNS 
chafe  his  hands  and  feet.~\ 

There,  he  has  caught  it.  Chafe  his  arms,  Miss 
Karns.  I  am  not  sure  that  we  can  bring  him  round 
even  yet.  His  vitality  is  amazing.  I  don't  under 
stand  it  at  all.  His  heart  was  all  right,  though  —  ex 
tra  strong. 

BAIL 

I  shall  have  to  have  a  few  more  seconds.  I  have 
three  stitches  to  take.  You  may  let  him  come  out  if 
you  wish.  This  is  the  last  time  I  shall  use  gas  — 
here.  I  have  had  enough  trouble  with  it  before.  (He 
tries  to  think  where.) 

DEMYAPHON 

[To  VATABEEL.] 

And  the  humor  of  it  is  that  it  is  without  rhyme 
or  reason.  /  Over  and  over  !  Eon  after  eon  !  What 
you  do  now,  you  will  do  again.  And  there  is  no  ex 
planation.  You  are  so  eager  to  live  —  to  do  it  again. 
Do  you  not  see  the  humor  of  that? 

[With  sardonic  intent  the  rate  of  vibration 
which  is  laughter  is  set  up  in  V  AT  AB  EEL'S 
body.  Even  as  he  struggles  to  breathe  and 


LAUGHING  GAS  113 

to  regain  his  material  state,  he  realizes  that 
the  impulse,  a  part  of  something  vast,  un 
earthly,  mechanical,  wavelike,  is  sweeping  him 
into  its  rate.  Weak  from  loss  of  blood — in 
danger  of  rupturing  the  large  artery  in  the 
center  of  the  wound,  close  to  the  surface,  he 
begins  to  swell  with  pent-up  laughter.  A 
dry,  hard,  sardonic  desire  to  shout  overcomes 
him,  although  he  is  yet  unable  to  move.] 


DRYDEN 

[To  GAILEY,  noting  the  customary  action  of 
nitrous  oxide  as  the  patient  approaches  con 
sciousness,  and  uncertain  what  to  do.] 
He  is  coming  to.     I'm  a  little  afraid  to  use  more 
gas  in  his  present  condition,  Doctor.     If  he  laughs 
too  hard — !! 

BAIL 

\lrrit  ably. ~\ 

Can  you  keep  him  under  ten  more  seconds  ?    I  have 
one  more  stitch  to  take.     (He  takes  one.) 


DRYDEN 

I  think  he'll  last  that  long,  Doctor,  anyhow. 
[Nurses  and  assistants  seek  to  hold  VATABEEL 


114  LAUGHING  GAS 

rigid  in  order  that  the  operation  may  not  be 
'disturbed.] 

DEMYAPHON 

And  I  told  you  you  would  laugh.  You  will  even 
tually  forget  why,  but  you  will  shout  and  shout  and 
see  no  reason.  I  am  the  reason.  I  am  the  master 
of  your  personality.  I  am  Demyaphon — Laughing 
Gas.  Shout !  Shout !  Shout !  (It  leaves  him  in  a 
waking  condition.) 

VATABEEI/ 

[As  BAIL  takes  the  last  stitch  and  GAILEY  be 
gins  the  bandaging  of  his  neck,  seemingly 
bursting  into  consciousness,  the  wound  still 
unbandaged,  the  pain  of  the  needle  still 
fresh.] 

Oh,  ho!  ho!  ho! 

Oh,  ha!  ha!  ha! 

Oh,  ho!  ho!  ho! 

Oh,  ha!  ha!  ha! 

Oh,  ho!  ho!  ho! 

GAILEY 

[Holding  one  arm  to  calm  him,  uncertain  as  to 
whether  he  is  mentally  clear  or  not — as  yet.~\ 
Something  very  funny,  Doctor? 


LAUGHING  GAS  115 


BAIL 

[Accustomed  to  the  effects  of  laughmg  gas,  but 
disturbed  by  his  patient's  condition — to 
GAII/EY.] 

Make  those  bandages  very  tight.  I'm  afraid  of 
that  wound.  It  is  too  bad  we  couldn't  have  kept  him 
under  longer.  He's  very  close  to  death  even  yet.  I 
scarcely  had  time  to  take  those  stitches  properly. 
And,  of  course,  the  effects  of  the  gas  have  to  be  the 
very  worst  possible.  (He  shrugs  his  shoulders.) 


VATABEEL 

[Still  shaken  by  the  rate  of  vibration  set  up  in 
him,  his  mouth  open,  his  face  a  mask  of  sar 
donic  inanity.] 

Oh,  ho!  ho!  ho— oh,  ha!  ha!   ha! 
Oh,  ho!  ho!  ho — oh,  ha!  ha!   ha! 
Oh,  ho!  ho!  ho— oh,  ha!  ha!   ha! 
I  see  it  all  now !    Oh,  what  a  j  oke !    Oh,  what  a  trick ! 
Over  and  over !     And  I  can't  help  myself !     Oh,  ho ! 
ho !  ho !     Oh,  ha !  ha !  ha !     And  the  very  laughing 
compulsory !  vibratory !  a  universal  scheme  of  laugh 
ing  !    Oh,  ho !  ho !  ho !    Ah,  ha !  ha !  ha !    I  have  the 
answer!     I  see  the  trick.      The  folly  of  medicine! 
The  folly  of  life !    Oh,  ho !  ho !  ho !    Oh,  ha !  ha !  ha ! 
Oh,  ho!  ho!  ho!     Oh,  ha!  ha!  ha!     What  fools  and 


116  LAUGHING  GAS 

tools   we   are!     What  pawns!     What  numbskulls ! 
Oh,  ho!  ho!  ho!    Ah,  ha!  ha!  ha! 

[His  face  has  a  sickly  flatness,   the  while  he 

glares  with  half-glazed  eyes,  and  shakes  his 

head.} 

GAILEY 

I  never  saw  gas  act  more  vigorously.  Did  you, 
Doctor? 

BAIL 

[Annoyed  by  the  incident. ] 

I  never  did.  (Taking  his  friend9 s  arm.)  Come, 
Jason,  you're  all  right  now !  Get  over  this !  Just 
laughing  gas,  you  know.  It's  all  over.  You  have 
a  serious  cut  in  your  neck.  (He  presses  his  arm 
fondly.)  You're  just  laughing  because  of  the  gas. 


VATABEEL 

[Wearily — with  the  sense  of  immense  futility 

still  holding  him.~\ 

Oh,  ho !  ho !  ho.  Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes.  Just  laughing 
gas !  And  that's  why  I  laugh.  Oh,  ho !  ho !  ho !  Ah, 
ha !  ha !  ha !  I  don't  wonder  it  laughs !  I  would  too ! 
You  would  if  you  knew!  The  mystery!  The  cru 
elty  !  The  folly !  Oh,  ho «  ho !  ho !  Oh,  ha !  ha !  ha ! 
[He  stares  and  glares  the  while  his  friends  and 


LAUGHING  GAS  117 

hearers  view  him  with  kindly,  condescending 
tolerance  mingled  with  a  touch  of  awe  and 
amazement.] 

BAIL 

[Genially.] 
Just  the  same,  it's  all  over,  Jason.    Come  on ! 


VATABEEL 

[Shaking  himself  and  beginning  to  recover  his 

natural  poise  and  reserve.] 

And  was  it  only  the  gas,  then?  That  is  very 
strange:  I  thought — -I  thought — I  wonder?  I  won 
der — ?  (His  mouth  remains  open.) 


DRYDEN 

[His  calmness  restored.] 
It  seems  odd  to  see  him  laughing  like  that. 


GAILEY 

The  fumes  are  still  in  his  head.  He'll  be  all  right 
now,  though.  That  was  a  pretty  close  shave.  I 
thought  we  had  lost  him.  There'll  be  a  new  store 
keeper  here  tomorrow,  if  I  have  my  way. 


118  LAUGHING  GAS 

THE    SECOND    ASSISTANT 

I  never  saw  Dr.  Bail  so  irritated.     He'll  hold  this 
against  us. 

\TJie  various  doctors  and  nurses  and  assistants 
go  about  their  duties.  BAIL  slowly  leads 
VATABEEL  to  his  automobile.  VATABEEL'S 
face  retains  a  look  of  deep,  amazed  abstrac 
tion.] 


CUKTAIN 


IV 
IN  THE  DARK 


CHARACTERS 


Officers. 


JOHN  REPISO,  a  fruit-peddler. 

BRADY, 

BOCOCK, 

DlNGWALTER, 

TRAIN, 

KELLY, 

SYFAX, 

EMMETT, 

BONES, 

JACOB  WOITEZEK,  upholsterer. 

GEORGE  STEPHANIK,  shoe-dealer. 

FRUIT  DEALER. 

OLD  WOMAN. 

THE  GHOST  WITH  THE  RED  EYES. 

THE  WRAITH. 


Spirits,  Passers-by,  Voices  of  Various  Dogs. 


IN   THE   DARK 

SCENE 

Kerry  Patch,  adjoining  the  car-yards,  at  one  in 
the  morning.  Long,  dimly  lighted  streets, 
with  here  and  there  a  gas  lamp  flaring  in  the 
wind.  On  the  fourth  floor  of  Kerrigan's 
flats — a  detached,  tatterdemalion  row  of 
buildings  facing  Eleventh  Avenue — a  dim 
light  behind  a  tightly  drawn  curtain  is  sud 
denly  put  out. 

FIRST    SPIRIT 

[Sweeping  by.] 
A  murder !    A  murder ! 


CAI/LAHANS  GRAY 

[In  the  next  block  north.'} 
Wow!     Wow!     Wow!     Gr-r- 


SECOND    SPIRIT 

[Sweeping  by.~\ 
A  murder !    A  murder ! 
121 


IN  THE  DARK 


{Three  blocks  east.] 

Yow-wee!     Yow-wee!     Yow-wee!  — ee! — ee!  (sub 
siding  with  a  whine.) 

THIRD    SPIRIT 

{Sweeping  by.] 
A  murder !    A  murder !    A  murder ! 


{From  the  back  yard  of  his  grocery  store,  three 

blocks  south.'] 

Ow-wow!      Ow-wow!      Ow-wow!      Yoof!      Yoof! 
Yoof!    Ur! 

A    DOZEN    DOGS 

{In  all  directions,  taking  up  the  chorus. ~\ 
Ow-wee!      Ow-wee!      Yoof!      Yoof!      Ur!      Ur! 
Ooo !    Ooo !     Ooo ! 

OFFICER    BRADY 

{Stepping  out  of  the  family  entrance  of  Dry- 
heisen9s  Cafe,  three  blocks  south,  and  wiping 
his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand.~\ 
'Tis   a   strange  noise  these  dogs   do   be   makin'. 
What's  scratchin'  them? 


IN  THE  DARK  123 


FIRST    SPIRIT 


[Sweeping  by.~\ 
A  murder!    A  murder! 


OFFICER    BRADY 

[Suffering  an  odd  tremor  of  the  -flesh  and  ad 
justing  his  belt  and  revolver.     He  scratches 
his  ear  meditatively.] 
•A  windy  night. 

JOHN    REPISO 

[Coming  down  the  back  stairs  of  Kerrigan9s 
flats  in  the  dark,  the  wraith  of  a  new  spirit  be 
fore  him9  a  vile  ghost  with  red  eyes  behind. 
Over  his  shoulder  a  thick,  brown  bundle.    He 
opens  the  door  carefully  and  peers  out.~\ 
Alia   right   so   far.      Musta   no   maka   da    noise. 
(Peers  out  still  further,  sees  a  home-hurrying  plum 
ber    and    retreats.)      Jesu!      Santa    Maria!      San 
Tomo!     (He  wipes  his  brow  with  one  grimy  finger 
and  listens  until  the  steps  die  away  in  the  distance.) 


THE    GHOST    WITH    RED    EYES 

[From  behind.] 

Fine!    Fine!    Ah,  Life!    Life!    The  smell  of  new 
blood !     Fine ! 


IN  THE  DARE 


THE    WRAITH 

[Before.] 

Ah,  me  !    Ah,  me  !    Am  I  really  dead  ?    Where  am 
I?     I  do  not  want  to  die! 


A    SCORE    OP    SPIRITS 

[Rushing  from  street  to  street.] 
A  murder!     A  murder!     Awake!     Awake! 
[The  dogs  begin  to  howl  as  before.] 

JACOB    WOITEZEK 

[Upholsterer,  a  victim  of  insomnia  and  Bright'* 
disease,  opening  his  window  on  the  third  floor 
opposite  and  leaning  out.] 

Ach,  I  sleep  so  badly.  I  think  I  am  going  to  die. 
What  is  all  the  noise  ?  The  dogs !  They  never  sleep ! 
Why  do  they  howl? 

A  SPIRIT 

[Sweeping  by.] 
A  murder !    A  murder !    Awake !    Awake ! 


JACOB    WOITEZEK 

[A  tremor  passing  down  his  spine.] 
Dark!     And  empty!     The  streets  are  very  bare. 
When  the  dogs  howl  they  say  someone  is  dead.     I 


IN  THE  DARK  125 

must  go  back  or  I  will  take  more  cold  in  my  back. 
How  they  howl!  {He  rubs  his  flabby,  sickly  face, 
looks  up  and  down  the  long,  dim  street,  and  puts  his 
hand  on  the  window-frame  to  pull  it  down.) 


OFFICER    BEADY 

[Strolling  north,  twirling  his  night-stick  non 
chalantly.] 

'Tis  a  great  racket  they  make.  Ye'd  think  they'ud 
lost  their  last  fren'.  Me  gran'mother  used  to  belave 
that  whin  dogs  howled  someone  was  dyin'.  That  was 
in  the  country.  'Tis  different  in  the  big  cities,  no 
doubt.  (He  thumbs  his  belt  and  looks  inquiringly 
around.) 

FIVE    SPIRITS 

{Circling  around  him  in  a  wreath.] 
A  murder !    A  murder !    Awake !    Awake !  Watch ! 
Wake! 

{He  feels  the  same  tremor  as  before,  and  peers 
into  every  entry  and  storefront.'] 


JOHN  REPISO 

{Still  waiting,  but  hearing  no  sound. ~\ 
No  can  wait.    They  no  can  tell  without  the  head. 
One,  two,  tree  block !    Then  cars !    Then  alia  right ! 
(He  steps  out.) 


126  IN  THE  DARK 

THE    GHOST    WITH    RED    EYES 

Courage !  Well  done !  Fine !  Fine !  Ah !  Life  is 
fine!  (It  keeps  step  behind.) 

THE    WRAITH 

[Drifting  on  before.] 

Perhaps  I  am  not  dead.  I  must  stay  near.  I  do 
not  want  to  die! 

CHORUS    OF    SPIRITS 

[Clouding  the  air  overhead.] 

A  murder!  A  murder!  Vengeance!  Come  one! 
Come  all!  Vengeance! 

JACOB    WOITEZEK 

[At  his  window.] 

There  comes  a  man  with  a  bundle  at  this  hour  in 
the  morning.  I  wonder  what  is  in  it?  He  keeps  close 
to  that  wall. 

A  SPIRIT 
[Sweeping  by.] 
A  murder !    A  murder ! 

GEORGE    STEPHANIE 

[A  shoe-dealer,  coming  home  from  a  lodge  meet 
ing.] 
That  was   a  fine   business  I  did  this   afternoon. 


IN  THE  DARK  127 

Fourteen  pairs  in  three  hours.  It  is  because  of  the 
cold  weather.  If  I  could  do  as  well  as  that  every  day 
I  would  open  a  bigger  store  in  a  little  while.  In  a 
better  neighborhood,  too.  This  is  nothing  —  very 
bad,  trash.  But  why  do  the  dogs  howl  so? 

{There  is  continued  yowling  in  near  cmd  "far 
places.] 

THREE    SPIRITS 


[Swirling  about 
A  murder  !    A  murder  !    Watch  !    Behold  ! 


THE    SHOE-DEALER 

[Hunching    his    shoulders,    drawing    his    coat 

tight,  and  looking  about  him] 
I  don't  like  these  dark  neighborhoods.  I  never  did. 
They  are  dangerous.  Is  that  a  man  with  a  bag  in  the 
next  block?  He  is  going  into  Santangelo's,  or  the 
next  place  to  it.  But  Santangelo  is  asleep.  No,  the 
man  is  just  stopping  there.  What  can  he  be  carry 
ing  in  a  bag  at  this  hour  of  the  night? 


THE    THREE    SPIRITS 

[StiH  swirling  m  a  circle  above  him] 
A  murder!    A  murder!    Watch!    Watch! 


128  IN  THE  DARK 

THE    SHOE-DEALER 

[Bustling  on.~\ 

It  is  half-past  one.  It  will  be  hard  to  get  up  again 
at  seven  in  the  morning.  I  do  not  like  these  late 
hours. 

JOHN  REPISO 

[Crowding  into  a  dark  doorway,  waiting  for  the 
stranger  to  pass,  and  adjusting  the  bundle  on 
his  back.] 

Jesu  !  Santa  Maria !  San  Tomo !  One — two 
block  more.  Then  no  can  see.  Railroad  track.  No 
can  tell.  Come  back  same  as  any  man. 

[He  adjusts  the  bundle  and  grasps  the  handle 
of  a  knife  in  his  shirt-front.] 

STEPHANIE 

[Passing  by  on  the  other  side  of  the  street  and 

peering  over.] 

There  he  is — someone  waiting  there.  It  is  too 
dark  to  see.  Someone  with  a  bundle.  There  ought 
to  be  an  officer  hereabouts.  They  never  do  their 
duty,  these  police.  You  never  can  find  one  when  you 
want  one. 

THE    CLOUD    OF    SPIRITS 

[Over  SANTANGELO'S  door.] 
A  murder !    A  murder !    Come !    Come ! 


IN  THE  DARK  129 


THE    THREE    SPIRITS 

[Circling  over  STEPHANIE'S  head.] 
A  murder !    A  murder !    Come !    See ! 

STEPHANIE 

[Unreasonably  disturbed.] 

It  is  strange — that  man!  Why  should  he  hide 
here?  He  may  be  trying  to  break  into  Santangelo's 
store !  And  these  dogs !  They  make  me  creepy !  If 
I  could  see  an  officer  now ! 

[He  hurries  on,  looking  right  and  left,  for  he  it 
a  great  coward.] 

OFFICER    BRADY 

[Two  blocks  away,  twirling  his  stick.] 
'Tis  the  divil's  own  night  for  dogs !    I  never  heard 
the  like ! 

[He  peers  in  at  other  doorways.] 

GEORGE  STEPHANIE: 

[Drawing  nearer  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,, 

and  crossing  over  to  him.] 

Officer!  I  saw  a  man  in  the  next  block,  there,  on 
this  side  of  the  street,  hiding  in  a  doorway.  He  had 
a  bundle  over  his  shoulder.  It  looked  to  me  as  if  he 
had  broken  in  somewhere  or  was  going  to.  He  didn't 
want  me  to  see  him.  There  are  so  many  thieves 


130  IN  THE  DARK 

around  I  thought  you  might  want  to  see  him.    He  is 
in  Santangelo's  doorway. 


OFFICER    BRADY 

[Stiffening  with  a  sense  of  duty  and  adventure.] 
In  the  next  block,  you  say?     I'll  have  a  look  at 
him.    Come  along  if  you  like. 

[Clouds  of  spirits  wheel  overhead,  crying  "A 
murder!    A  murder!"] 


JOHN  REPISO 

[Peering  out.~\ 

Alia  gone !     Two  more  block !     No  more  can  tell 
without  the  head !    Jesu !    I  no  meant  he  die. 
[He  wipes  his  brow  and  starts.~\ 


THE    GHOST    WITH    RED    EYES 

Fine !     Fine !     Two  more  blocks !     The  smell  of 
new  blood !    Ah !    Ah ! 

[He  keeps  step  behmd.] 

THE    WRAITH 

[Going  before.] 

Am  I  alive  ?    Am  I  dead  ?    I  must  stay  near.    I  do 
not  want  to  die ! 


IN  THE  DARK  131 


THE    SPIRITS 


[Circling  above  in  a  great  cloud.] 
A  murder !    A  murder !     Come  one,  come  all ! 
[The  dogs  begin  to  howl  again.] 


OFFICER    BRADY 

[Sighting  the  figure  in  the  distance.'] 
There  he  goes  now.     That's  the  man  ye  mean,  no 
doubt.    Well,  we'll  have  a  look  at  what  he  has  in  that 
bag.    Come,  now. 

[He  sharpens  his  pace.] 


THE    GHOST    WITH    RED    EYES 

Hurry!     Hurry!     Ah,  a  good  deed.     Good  life! 
Good  life !    Would  that  I  were  alive ! 


THE    SPIRITS 

A  murder !    A  murder ! 

JOHN    REPISO 

[Hearing  steps  and  looking  about.] 
Ah,  Jesu !    Ah,  San  Tomo ! 
[He  begins  to  run.~\ 


IN  THE  DARK 


OFFICER    BRADY 

[Beginning  to  run,  also,  two  blocks  behind.] 
Come,  now  !    None  o'  that  ! 

[He  raps  on  the  sidewalk  with  his  night-stick, 

then  extracts  his  police-whistle  and  blows  a 

blast.] 
[JACOB  WOITEZEK,  who  has  only  just  closed  his 

window,  opens  it.     Other  windows  fly  open.] 

SPIRITS 

[Sweeping  before  one  and  all.] 
A  murder  !    A  murder  ! 


JOHN  REPISO 

{Turning  into  the  car-yard.] 
Ah,  Jesu !    Ah,  Santa  Maria !    Gratia  Dio ! 

[He  slips  between  two  lines  of  idle  boxcars,  dark 
and  sombre,  and  hurries  past  ten  before  he 
deposits  the  bag  under  the  trucks  of  one  of 
them.] 

They  may  not  find  it  yet.     The  police !     That  is 

my  terrible  luck,  that  there  should  be  a  policeman ! 

[He  slips  under  the  cars,  while  spirits  hover 

overhead,  passing  through  the  wood  and  steel, 

leaving  the  wraith  beside  the  bag.     Outside 

the  whistle  of  OFFICER  BRADY  is  sounding,  the 


IN  THE  DARK  133 

while  other  police-whistles  answer  from  a  dis 
tance,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer.] 


THE    WRAITH 


[Hovering  over  the  body.] 
Am  I  dead  ?    Am  I  dead  ?    I  do  not  want  to  die ! 


OFFICER    BRADY 


[Turning  into  the  yard.} 

We  may  have  a  job  finding  him  in  here.    And  the 
river  is  just  beyond. 

[He  blows  new  blasts.] 


OFFICER    BOCOCK 


[Running  up.] 
What's  the  trouble?    What's  the  trouble? 


OFFICER    BRADY 


A  thief,  be  God!    He's  just  turned  in  here  with  a 
bag.    Right  through  here  he  went. 


OFFICER    DINGWAI/TER 


[Arriving  breathless.] 
What's  the  row? 


IN  THE  DARK 


OFFICER    BRADY 

Wait  here  and  tell  the  others.     A  thief  has  just 
turned  in  here  with  a  bag. 

[Other  officers  arrive.    A  spirited  search  begins. 
The  place  is  surrounded.] 

THE   GHOST   WITH   RED   EYES 

[At  the  heels  of  REPISO.] 

Fine!      Fine!     Well  done!     The  body  smells   of 
blood!    Fine! 

THE    SPIRITS 

[A  cloud  over  each  officer.  ~\ 
A  murder!    A  murder!     This  way! 

[They  pass  to  REPISO  and  then  back  to  the  of 
ficers     The  air  is  vibrant  with  their  motion.] 

REPISO 

[Stumbling  out  from  the  last  line  of  cars  at  the 
water's    edge,    and   surveying    the    retaining 
wall.     The  water  flows  silently  below.] 
Jesu!     No  can  swim!     (He  hears  the  continued 
shrieks  of  many  whistles  and  at  the  same  time  dis 
covers  a  sewer-vent.)     Ah!    Gratia  Dio!    Ah,  Santa 
Maria  !    Gratia  ! 

[He  seeks,  via  rocks  and  a  projecting  beam,  to 
lower  himself  into  it.] 


IN  THE  DARK  135 

OFFICER    BOCOCK 

[Reaching  the  water's  edge  and  flashing  a  bulVs- 

eye  out  over  the  wall.] 
This  is  where  he  would  make  for  first. 

[He  keeps  a  cocked  revolver  poised  lightly  in 

his  hand.~\ 

OFFICER    DINGWALTER 

[Revolver  and  bulVs-eye  in  hand.] 
I'll  look  after  the  other  end,  George. 

OFFICER    TRAIN 

There's  a  sewer-vent  here  somewhere.  He  may 
make  for  that.  {He  walks  along  the  wall  toward  it. 
A  police-boat  passes.  He  calls.)  Shoot  a  light  in 
here,  captain,  will  you?  We  think  a  pigeon  may  have 
ducked  in  here. 

[The  boat  draws  near  and  a  powerful  ray  is 
flashed.] 

SPIRITS 

[Filling  the  air  like  gulls.] 
In  here !    In  here !    In  here ! 

AN    OFFICER 

[On  board  the  boat,  detecting  REPISO  crouching 

low] 
Come  out  of  that. 


136  IN  THE  DARK 

[Revolvers  are  drawn.     Three  men  are  landed. 
They  return  with  REPISO.] 


THE    GHOST    WITH    RED    EYES 

{Close  behind. ~\ 

Ah,  blood !    More  blood !    Fine !    Fine ! 


OFFICER    BRADY 

[Forcing  himself  to  the  front.] 
Now  ye'll  be  tellin'  me  what  ye  did  with  that  bag 
ye  had.    Where  did  ye  put  it  ? 

ANOTHER    OFFICER 

[Shaking  him  roughly.] 
Come,  now !    Out  with  it !    Where  did  ye  put  it? 

JOHN  REPISO 

[Cautiously.] 
No  spika  da  Anglais. 

OFFICER    BRADY 

Ye  Guinea  scut!  It's  no  English,  is  it?  Well, 
we'll  make  ye  talk  something  before  long.  Bring  him 
along,  boys.  The  bag's  here,  if  it  ain't  in  the  river. 
We'll  soon  be  findin'  it.  Ye  say  it's  not  in  the  sewer 
there? 


IN  THE  DARK  137 

AN    OFFICER 

It's  not  in  the  sewer. 

[The  air  is  full  of  spirits  weaving  between  the 
body  and  the  searching  police.  Determined 
effort  is  made  by  the  former  to  transmit 
knowledge  in  terms  of  thought. ,] 

OFFICER    KELLY 

[Of  the  fifth  precinct,  throwing  a  bull's-eye 
light  between  the  trucks  of  each  car  of  the 
second  row.~\ 

Hi,  now,  here's  somethin' !  {He  reaches  under  and 
draws  forth  the  bag.)  This'll  be  it,  I'm  thinkin'. 
{He  takes  out  a  knife,  cuts  the  cord  and  reveals  the 
wet  wrappings  of  the  body.)  Mother  of  Mary! 
{He  blows  his  police-whistle.) 

OFFICER    BOCOCK 

[Appearing.] 
You've  found  it,  have  you? 

OFFICER    DINGWAI/TER 

This'll  be  more  black-hand  work,  I'm  thinkin'. 
Well,  he'll  talk  English  or  somethin'  like  it  before  we 
get  through. 

[Other  officers  atiend.  Spirits,  a  legion,  thread 
and  weave.] 


138  IN  THE  DARK 


REPISO 


[Arriving  with  several  officers,  the  light  of  vari 
ous  buWs-eyes  on  his  face.     To  himself,  sot  to 
voce.~\ 
Jesu !    Santa  Maria !    Me  make  me  don't  know. 


OFFICER    BRADY 


Here  ye  are,  my  fine  one.  So  that's  what  ye  had 
in  the  bag?  Now  will  ye  speak  and  tell  us  where  ye 
brought  it  from? 


OFFICER    DINGWALTER 


[His  hand  on  his  collar,  shaking  hi 
Come,  now,  speak,  will  you? 


REPISO 


[Wet  and  blanched.] 
No  spika  da  Anglais !    No  understan' ! 


OFFICER    KELLY 


[Outraged  by  the  horror  of  it.~\ 
We'll  spika  the  English   for   ye,  ye  black  scut ! 
Ye'll  swing  for  this. 


IN  THE  DARK  139 

OFFICER    SYFAX 

[Newly  arrived  on  the  scene,  and  edging  his  waif 

through.] 

A  murder  ?  Whaddye  know  about  that !  Is  that 
the  man?  Say  (edging  closer  and  peeving  into  RE- 
PISO'S  face),  I  think  I  know  this  fellow.  He  used  to 
be  hangin'  around  Kerrigan's  flats  when  I  did  the  day 
trick  there.  Where'd  ye  see  him  first? 


OFFICEE    DINGWALTER 

Brady  saw  him  here  in  llth  Avenue  somewhere. 

OFFICER    BRADY 

[Eagerly.] 

Sure,  I  thought  that's  where  he  might  a  been  corn- 
in'  from  when  I  seen  him  with  the  bag.  Them  flats 
is  full  of  Eyetalians. 

OFFICER    BOCOCK 

We'd  better  take  him  down  there  then  and  see  what 
we  can  find  out. 

[The  air  is  still  thick  with  spirits  weaving  and 
threading;  the  red-eyed  ghost  standing  be 
hind  REPISO,  the  wraith  over  the  dead  body 
repeating  its  vacuous  plaint. ,] 


140  IN  THE  DARK 

THE    WRAITH 

Am  I  dead  ?    Am  I  dead  ? 

THE    RED-EYED     GHOST 

Blood!    More  blood! 

OFFICER    DINGW ALTER 

[Officiously.] 

That's  the  idea.     Someone  ring  for  an  ambulance. 
Someone  ought  to  stay  here  and  look  after  this. 

OFFICER    KELLY 

[Too  old  to  be  eager  for  publicity.] 
I'll  be  lookin'  after  that. 

[The  procession  starts,  with  REPISO  held  by 
DINGWALTER  and  BOCOCK  and  followed  by  the 
ghost  with  red  eyes.  In  front,  SYFAX  and 
BRADY;  behind,  Officers  TRAIN,  BONES,  EM- 
METT.  Over  the  body  in  the  car-yards,  the 
wraith.  Overhead,  a  legion  of  spirits.  The 
procession  approaches  the  entrance  to  Ker 
rigan's  fiats.] 

OFFICERS    SYFAX    AND    BRADY 

[To  citizens  who  have  crowded  in  before.] 
Out  of  the  way  there ! 


IN  THE  DARK  141 

[They  make  their  way  up  the  stairs  to  the  first 
landing,  followed  by  DINGW ALTER  and  BO- 
COCK  with  REPISO  and  the  others.] 

OFFICER    SYFAX 

[Pounding  vigorously  on  the  door.] 
Hello!     Hello! 

[An  Italian  fruit  dealer  puts  his  head  out  of 
the  door.~\ 

FRUIT    DEALER 

[Recognizing  REPISO  in  the  hands  of  the  po 
lice.] 
What's  da  mat'?    What's  da  mat'? 

OFFICER    BRADY 

[Irritably.] 

Cut  that,  ye  heathen  Guinea!     Ye'll  soon  know 
what's  da  mat'.    Did  yez  ever  see  this  man  before  ? 

THE    FRUIT    DEALER 

[Fearing  Italian  retaliation.'] 
No  un'stan' !    No  spika  da  Anglais  ! 

OFFICER    SYFAX 

[Vigorously.] 
You   lie,   you    hound!      They're   all   in    cahoots. 


IN  THE  DARK 

Somebody  watch  this   man  until  we  see  about  the 
others. 

[OFFICER  EMMETT   takes  charge  of  the  fruit 
dealer.    They  turn  to  another  door.'] 

OFFICER    BRADY 

[Beating  it.'} 
Hello!     Hello! 

[He  shakes  the  door-knob.    An  old  woman  puts 
her  head  out  of  the  door.~\ 

OLD  WOMAN 
Whatever  is  the  matter? 

OFFICER    BRADY 

Tell  me,  now,  have  ye  ever  seen  this  man  before  ? 

OLD    WOMAN 

[Unconscious  of  REPISO'S  strain  and  terror.] 
Why,  yes,  that's  Mr.  Repiso.     He's  a  nice  man. 
Whatever  are  ye  holding  him  for  ? 
[Repiso  shivers  convulsively.] 

OFFICER    SYFAX 

[Facetiously.] 

A  fine  man,  eh !    Oh,  perfectly  good !    What  floor 
does  he  live  on,  old  lady  ? 


IN  THE  DARK  143 

THE    OLD    WOMAN 

The  fourth.     I'm  very  sorry,  I'm  sure.     What's 
he  done  ? 

[REPISO  shivers  again.     The  eyes  of  the  ghost 
become  vaguely  luminous.] 

OFFICER    BRADY 

What  hasn't  he  done !     Be  all  the  saints !     Does 
he  speak  English? 

THE    OLD    WOMAN 

Sure  he   speaks   English.      He   always   speaks   it 
to  me. 

REPISO 

[To  himself.'] 
Jesu! 

THE    GHOST    WITH    RED    EYES 

Blood!    More  blood! 

SPIRITS 

[Sweeping  in  clouds  through  wood  and  stone.'] 
Up  here !    Up  here ! 

OFFICER    DINGWALTER 

[To  REPISO.] 

I  thought  so.    Now  maybe  you'll  talk,  Charley. 
[They  mount  the  stairs.] 


144  IN  THE  DARK 

OFFICER    SYFAX 

[Pounding  on  the  door.'] 

Hello!     Hello!     (No  answer.)     Open  the  door! 
Hey !    Open  the  door ! 

[He  presses  to  break  it  in.] 

OFFICER    BRADY 

[To  REPISO.] 
Is  this  where  yez  live  ?    Say ! 

OFFICER    DINGW  ALTER 

You  might  as  well  talk.    It's  all  up  with  you,  any 
how.    It  might  do  you  a  little  good  to  be  honest. 

JOHN  REPISO 

[Weakly,  almost  in  a  fainting  condition.'] 
No  can  spik.    No  un'erstan'. 

SPIRITS 

[Swirling  in  circles.'] 
In  here !    In  here ! 

[The  door  is  broken  down  with  a  crash.  They 
enter  a  tenement  kitchen,  oilcloth  on  the  -floor 
much  worn,  the  stationary  washtubs  dirty  and 
filled  with  junk,  the  walls  painted  a  dull  green 
and  badly  smeared.  Beyond,  a  sitting-room 


IN  THE  DARK  145 

badly  arranged  with  cheap  red-plush  furni 
ture,  so  worn  that  it  looks  as  if  it  had  been 
collected  from  ash-heaps.  In  one  corner  an 
imitation  walnut  table  upset  and  the  white 
marble  top  broken.  A  chair  is  piled  on  a 
black  iron  and  wire  couch.  A  zinc  washtub 
holds  the  segments  of  a  man's  arms.  In  one 
corner  of  the  room  lies  a  roundish  bundle.  In 
another,  on  oilcloth,  lies  a  pair  of  legs.  In 
the  zinc  washtub  on  a  newspaper  are  laid 
a  small  saw  and  a  knife.  Brooding  over  it  all, 
the  wraith,  unconscious  of  duality  J\ 

OFFICER    SYFAX 

[Sweeping  a  bulVs-eye  around,  then  striking  a 

light.-} 

Well,  I'll  be  damned !  Here's  a  how-dy-ye-do ! 
Whaddye  know  about  this?  He's  been  tryin'  to  cut 
him  up  into  bits.  Say,  you're  a  wonder,  Spaghetti ! 
They'll  make  a  hell  of  a  noise  over  this. 

[He  kicks  the  zinc  tub  with  his  foot,  proud  of 
his  official  association  with  so  grim  a  crime.'] 

OFFICER    BRADY 

[Interested  in  the  publicity  he  will  get  as  the 
original  pursuer,  yet  nauseated  and  anxious 
to  have  doneJ\ 


146  IN  THE  DARK 

Mother  of  Moses !     And  I  thought  he  was  a  sec 
ond-story  man! 

[He  sees  the  round  bundle,   suspects  what  it 
contains,  but  refrains  from  approaching  it.~\ 

THE    WRAITH 

Am  I  dead?    Am  I  dead? 

THE    GHOST    WITH    RED    EYES 

Blood !    Good  blood ! 

OFFICER    DINGW ALTER 

[Shaking  REPISO.] 

Come,  me  fine  man !     What've  ye  got  to  say  to 
this  ?    Can't  ye  talk  English  now  a  little  ? 

OFFICERS    TRAIN    AND    BOCOCK 

[Crowding  close.'] 
Speak  up  now !    Whadyu  kill  im  for  ?    Hey  ? 

THE    GHOST    WITH    RED    EYES 

Blood !    Good  blood ! 

OFFICER    SYFAX 

[Bringing  forward  the  round  bundle. ~\ 
Here's  somethin'  else. 


IN  THE  DARK  147 

[He  unties  the  rough  twine  and  reveals  a  gory 
head,  black-haired  and  curly,  with  a  short 
blacJc  moustache.  At  sight  of  the  face  REPISO 
falls  on  his  knees,  uttering  a  cry  and  rocking 
emotionally  to  and  fro.] 

REPISO 
[Frenzied  and  incoherent,  the  while  the  spirits 

sweep  and  swirl.~\ 

No  meana  to  kill.  No  maka  da  strong  word,  no 
maka  da  first  blow !  I  alia  time  maka  da  safe  word. 
He  alia  time  follow  me  roun'.  He  my  brod.  Hata  da 
job!  Hata  da  work!  No  maka  da  mon!  Alia  time 
beg!  Alia  time  maka  da  lie !  Say  he  no  can  find  job. 
Alia  time  maka  da  game.  No  maka  da  fair  game. 
He  cheata  da  cards.  Showa  da  stiletto — taka  da 
mon — Madre  de  Dio !  No  can  see,  no  can  hear.  He 
grabba  all  what  I  got. 

[He  raves  on  incoherently  as  to  the  details  of 
the  crime,  the  while  the  spirits  weave  and 
twine.] 

OFFICER    DINGWALTER 

That's  the  stuff.  Now  it's  comin'  out.  Good  for 
you,  Italy ! 

OFFICER    BONES 

Sure,  that's  the  way.  They  had  a  card  game. 
This  fellow  gets  sore  and  cuts  him  up.  It's  always 
the  way  with  these  spaghetti. 


148  IN  THE  DARK 


OFFICER    TRAIN 


[Coming  back  from  the  legs.'} 
Well,  it's  the  chair  for  him,  hey  ? 


OFFICER    SYFAX 

Sure ;  not  a  ghost  of  a  chance. 

[They  ring  for  an  ambulance.  The  coroner  ar 
rives.  Officers,  surgeons,  gather  up  the  re 
mains.  The  lights  are  put  out.  The  second 
representation  follows  them.  Spirits  fill  the 
air,  thinning  and  disappearing  as  they  lead 
REPISO  down  the  stairs.] 

THE    GHOST    WITH    RED    EYES 

[Glowing  with  a  strange  lustre.] 
Blood !    More  blood ! 


CURTAIN 


V 
THE    SPRING   RECITAL 


CHARACTERS 

WILMUTH  TABOR,  an  organist. 

AN  OLD  DOOR-KEEPER. 

MRS.  PENCE. 

MRS.  STILLWATER. 

Two  LOVERS. 

A  FAWN. 

Six  HAMA-DRYADS. 

A  CAT. 

A  BUM. 

THE  MINISTER  OF  ST.  GILES. 

THREE  PRIESTS  OF  Isis. 

A  MONK  OF  THE  THEBAID. 

Troops  of  Fauns  and  Nymphs,  clouds  of  Hags  and 
Wastrels.,  persistences  of  Fish  and  Birds  and  Ani 
mals,  various  living  and  newly  dead  Spirits  wander 
ing  in  from  the  streets. 


THE    SPRING   RECITAL 


SCENE 

A  prosperous  First  Church  in  the  heart  of  a 
great  city.  Outside  the  city's  principal 
avenue,  along  which  busses  and  vehicles  of  all 
descriptions  are  rolling.  An  idling  sense  of 
spring  in  the  gait  and  gestures  of  the  pedes 
trians.  Surrounding  the  church  a  grave 
yard,  heavily  shaded  with  trees,  the  branches 
of  which  reach  to  the  open  windows  exhaling 
soft  odors.  Over  the  graves  many  full  blown 
blossoms,  and  in  the  sky  a  round  May  moon. 
In  front  of  the  church  hangs  a  small  lighted 
cross,  and  under  it  swings  the  sign,  "Organ 
Recital,  8.30;  Wilmuth  Tabor,  Organist." 
The  doors  giving  into  the  church  are  open. 
The  interior,  save  for  the  presence  of  a  care 
taker  in  a  chair,  is  empty.  On  either  side  of 
the  pulpit,  below  a  great,  dark  rose  window, 
burns  a  partially  lighted  electrolier.  In  the 
organ  loft,  over  the  street  doors,  a  single 
light. 

151 


152  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 


FIRST    STREET    BOY 

[To  a  companion,  ambling  to  discover  what  the 
world  contains,  and  glancing  in  as  they  pass.] 
Gee!     Who'd  wanta  go  to  church  on  a  night  like 
this? 

SECOND    STREET    BOY 

I  should  say !  Did  you  see  the  old  guy  wit  de 
whiskers  sittin'  inside? 

FIRST    STREET    BOY 

Sure.    A  swell  job,  eh? 

[Their  attention  is  attracted  by  an  automobile 
spinning  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  they 
pass  on.'] 

AN    OLD    LADY 

[To  her  middle-aged  daughter,  on  whose  arm 
she  is  leaning  .  .  .  sympathetically  and  rem- 
iniscently.  ] 

The  dear  old  First  Church!  What  a  pity  its  pa 
rishioners  have  all  moved  away.  I  don't  suppose  the 
younger  generation  cares  much  for  church  going  any 
more.  People  are  so  irreligious  these  days. 

THE    DAUGHTER 

Poor  Mr.  Tabor.  I  went  to  one  of  his  concerts 
in  the  winter  and  there  were  scarcely  forty  people 


THE  SPRING  RECITAL  153 

there.    And  he  plays  so  heavenly,  too.     I  don't  sup 
pose  the  average  person  cares  much  for  organ  music. 
[They  pass  with  but  a  glance  at  the  interior.] 


A    BELATED    SHOE    CLERK 

[Hurrying  to  reach  Hagan's  Olio  Moving  Pic 
ture  #  Vaudeville  Theatre  before  the  curtam 
rises,  but  conscious  that  he  ought  to  pay 
some  attention  to  the  higher  phases  of  cul 
ture — turning  to  the  old  door-keeper.] 
When  does  this  concert  begin? 


THE  OLD  DOOR-KEEPER 

[Heavily.] 

Half  past  eight. 

[He    glances    at    the   sign   hanging   over    the 
youth9 s  head.] 

THE    BELATED    SHOE    CLERK 

Do  they  have  them  every  Wednesday  night? 

THE    OLD    DOOR-KEEPER 

Every  Wednesday.  (  The  CLERK  departs,  and  the 
old  man  scratches  his  head.)  They  often  ask,  but 
they  don't  come  in.  (He  shifts  to  a  more  comfort- 


154  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 

able  position  in  his  chair.)  I  see  no  use  playing  to 
five  or  six  people  week  in  and  week  out  all  summer 
long.  Still,  if  they  want  to  do  it  they  have  the 
money.  It  looks  like  a  good  waste  of  light  to  me. 

[Enter  MRS.  PENCE  and  MRS.  STIKLWATER,  two 
neighbors  of  the  immediate  vicinity.] 


MRS.  PENCE 

[A  heavy,  pasty-faced  woman  in  white  lawn — 
lowering  her  voice  to  a  religious  whisper  as 
they  pass  through  the  door.] 

Yes,  I  like  to  come  here  now  and  then.  I  don't 
know  much  about  music  but  the  organ  is  so  sooth 
ing.  We  had  a  parlor  organ  when  I  was  a  little  girl 
and  I  learned  to  play  on  that. 


MRS.    STILLWATER 

[Short,  blonde,  and  of  a  romantic  turn,  though 

the  mother  of  three  grown  sons.] 
I  just  think  the  organ  is  the  loveliest  of  all  instru 
ments.    It's  so  rich  and  deep.     (They  seat  themselves 
in  a  pew.)     Isn't  it  dim  here?     So  romantic!    I  love 
an  old  church.     I  don't  suppose  people  want  much 
light  when  they  hear  music.     See  the  moonlight  in 
that  window  over  there.     Isn't  it  lovely? 
[A  pair  of  lovers  enter] 


THE  SPRING  RECITAL  155 

THE    BOY 

I've  heard  of  him.  He's  a  well-known  organist.  I 
wish  he  would  play  a  Chopin  Nocturne  or  something 
of  Grieg.  I  love  Grieg. 

THE    GIRL 

Oh,  yes,  the  Solvieg's  Lied.     Isn't  it  still  here! 
[They  seat  themselves  in  a  remote  corner.    She 
squeezes  his  hand  and  he  returns  the  pres 
sure.] 

THE    ORGANIST 

[A  pessimistic  musician  of  fifty,  entering  and 
climbing  slowly  to  the  organ  loft,  surveying 
the  empty  auditorium  gloomily.] 
Only  four  people!  (He  turns  on  the  bracket 
lights,  uncovers  the  keys,  and  adjusts  the  sheets  of 
his  programme  before  him.  Surveying  himself  in  the 
mirror,  and  then  examining  the  opening  bars  of 
Bach's  Toccata  and  Fugue  in  D,  he  pulls  out  various 
stops  and  looks  into  the  dim,  empty  auditorium  once 
more.)  What  a  night!  And  me  playing  in  this  dim, 
empty  church.  It's  bad  enough  to  be  getting  along 
in  years  and  to  have  no  particular  following,  but  this 
church!  All  society  and  wealth  away  at  the  sea 
shore  and  the  mountains  and  me  here.  Ah,  well. 
(He  sighs.)  "Worse  and  worse  times  still  succeed 
the  former."  (He  sounds  a  faint  tremolo  to  test  the 
air  pressure.  Finding  all  satisfactory,  and  noting 


156  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 

that  the  hands  of  his  watch  stand  at  eight-thirty,  he 
begins  the  "Overture  to  the  Magic  Flute.99) 

[Enter  through  an  open  north  window  even  with 
the  floor  of  the  organ  loft,  a  horned  faun, 
with  gay  white  teeth,  grimacing  as  he  comes. 
He  begins  pirouetting.  He  carries  a  kex  on 
which  he  attempts  to  imitate  the  lovely  piping 
of  the  overture.] 

THE    FAUN 

[Prancing  lightly  here  and  there. ] 
Tra  aa  ala-lala !  Ah,  tra-la-la,  Ah,  tra-la-la ! 
Tra-la-leee !  Tra-la-leee !  Very  excellent !  Very  nice ! 
(He  gr'ms  from  ear  to  ear  and  spying  the  church  cat, 
a  huge  yellow  torn  who  is  mousing  about,  gives  a 
spirited  kick  in  its  direction.)  Dancing's  the  thing! 
Life  is  better  than  death,  thin  shade  that  I  am ! 

THE  CAT 

[Arching  its  back  and  raising  its  fur.~\ 
Pfhs— s— st !    Pfhs— s— st ! 

[The  FAUN  pirouettes  nearer,  indicating  a  de 
sire  to  dance  with  it,  whereupon  the  CAT  re 
treats  into  a  corner  under  the  organ.] 

THE    FAUN 

Ky-ey-ey!     You   silly   dolt!      (Kicks   and  spins 
away. ) 


THE  SPRING  RECITAL  157 

THE    ORGANIST 

[Noticing  the  spit-fire  attitude  of  the  CAT.] 
He  seems  to  see  something.     What  the  deuce  is 
ailing  him,  now  ?    I  wonder  whether  cats  do  see  any 
thing  when  they  act  like  that. 

[He  yields  to  the  seduction  of  the  frail  harmony, 
and  closes  his  eyes.~\ 


THE    BOY    LOVER 

Wonderful!    So  delicately  gay  and  sad !    It's  just 
like  flowers  blooming  in  the  night,  isn't  it? 

[His  sweetheart  squeezes  his  hand  and  moves 
closer.'} 

[Enter  Six  HAMA-DRYADS  from  the  trees  with 
out  and  circle  about,  wreath-wise  under  the 
groined  arches  of  the  ceiling.  They  are  a 
pale,  ethereal  company,  suiting  their  move 
ments  to  the  melody  and  its  variations. ~\ 


THE    SIX    HAMA-DRYADS 

Arch  of  church  or  arch  of  trees, 
Built  of  stone  or  built  of  air, 

Spirits  floating  on  a  breeze, 
Dancing  gayly  anywhere. 


158  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 

Out  of  lilac,  out  of  oak, 
Hard  by  asphodel  and  rose, 

Never   time  when  music   spoke 
But  a  dryad  fled  repose. 

Weaving,  turning,  high  and  low 
Where  the  purpled  rhythms  fall, 
Where  the  plangent  pipings  call, 

Round  and  round  and  round  we  go. 


THE    FAUN 

[Dancing  forward  and  about  them.~\ 
I  can  dance!    Let  me  dance! 
[He  grins  in  the  face  of  one.~\ 

THE    HAMA-DEYADS 

Go  way!     Don't  bother! 

THE    FAUN 

Oh,  don't  be  so  fussy.     (He  dances  away  by  him- 
sell.) 

THE    CAT 

[Prowling  under  the  organJ\ 

I  saw  a  mouse  peeping  out  of  that  hole  just  now. 
Wait!     (He  crouches  very  low,  ready  to  spring.) 


THE  SPRING  RECITAL  159 

THE    ORGANIST 

[Dreamily.  ,] 

This  passage  always  makes  me  think  of  moonlight 
on  open  fields  and  the  spicy  damp  breath  of  dark, 
dewy  wood,  and  of  lilacs  blowing  over  a  wall,  too.  So 
suitable,  but  I  would  rather  live  than  play.  (He 
sighs.) 

[A  gloomy  ghost  with  hard  green  eyes  enters 
from  the  sacristy,  and  pauses  in  a  dark  angle 
of  the  wall.] 

THE    GHOST 

[A  barrel  house  bum  a  dozen  years  dead,  but 
still  enamored  of  the  earth.] 

What's  doing  here,  I  wonder?  (He  stares.)  A 
lot  of  fools  dancing.  Hm!  (Turns  and  departs.) 


THE 

Oh,  Sweetheart,  isn't  it  perfect?  (She  lays  her 
head  on  his  shoulder.) 

THE  BOY 
Darling  ! 

THE    CAT 

[Springing.] 

There!  I  almost  caught  him!  (Peers  mto  the 
hole.)  Just  the  same,  I  know  where  he  is  now.  (He 
strolls  of  with  an  air  of  undefeated  skill.) 


160  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 

THE    ORGANIST 

[Missing  a  noteJ\ 

This  finale  isn't  so  easy.  And  I  don't  like  it  as 
well,  either.  I  always  stumble  in  these  allegro  move 
ments.  (He  wipes  his  brow,  improvises  a  -few  bars, 
interpolating  also  a  small  portion  of  the  triumphal 
march  from  "A'ida.")  This  is  different.  I  can  do  it 
better. 

MRS.    STILLWATER 

[Shifting  her  arm  and  moving  her  knee.~] 
I  never  like  loud  music  as  well  as  the  softer  kind. 
That  middle  part  was  beautiful. 

MRS.  PENCE 

Well,  I  can't  say  I  like  loud  music,  either,  but  now 
this— 

[He  begins  upon  the  Grail  motif  from  "Parsi- 

fa.-} 

THE    SIX    HAMA-DRYADS 

[Stitt  cir cling. ~\ 

Rose  of  fancy,  gold  of  soul, 

Of  all  fragrance  taking  toll, 

Of  all  rhythm  weaving  wiles, 

We,  the  fabric  of  all  smiles. 
[They  cease  dancing  and  drift  out  of  the  win 
dow,  followed  by  the  FAUN.     As  they  do  so 


THE  SPRING  RECITAL  161 

an  ENGLISH  MINISTER,  once  of  St.  Giles,  Cir- 
encester,  who  died  in  1631,  a  MONK  of  the 
Thebaid,  A.  D.  300,  and  three  PRIESTS  OF  Isis, 
B.  C.  £840,  enter.  On  detecting  the  odour  of 
reverence,  they  materialize  themselves  to 
themselves  as  servitors  of  their  respective 
earthly  religions — the  Egyptians  in  their 
winged  hoods,  the  monk  of  the  Thebaid  in  his 
high  pointed  cowl,  the  Minister  of  St.  Giles  in 
his  broad-brimmed  hat  with  high  conical 
crown,  knee-length  coat,  and  heavy,  silver- 
buckled  shoes.] 


THE    MINISTER    OF    ST.    GILES 

[To  himself.] 

An  unhappy  costume  this  that  I  wear,  yet  it  is  all 
that  identifies  me  with  my  former  earthly  self,  or 
with  life.  (He  notes  the  Egyptians  and  the  monk, 
but  pays  no  attention  to  them  for  the  moment.) 


FIRST    PRIEST    OF    ISIS 

[To  his  brothers.] 

A  house  of  worship,  I  take  it.  How  the  awe  of 
man  persists.  I  thought  I  detected  exquisite  and 
harmonious  vibrations  here. 


162  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 

SECOND    PRIEST 

[Tall  and  severely  garbed,  yet  in  the  rich  col 
ors  of  his  order.] 
And  I.     It  is  melody,  I  feel  the  waves. 

THIRD    PRIEST 

[Signing  in  the  direction  of  the  organist.] 
There  is  the  musician.  How  pale  his  emanation. 
He  is  arranging  something.  And  here  is  a  very  pres 
ent  reminder  of  one  of  our  earthly  stupidities.  We 
worshiped  the  forerunner  of  that  in  our  day.  (He 
motions  to  the  church  CAT  who  strolls  by  with  great 
dignity.  They  smile.) 

THE  CAT 

[Surveying  them  with  indifferent  eyes.~\ 
At  least  I  am  alive. 

FIRST    PRIEST 

[A  master  of  astrology.] 

Small  comfort.  You  will  be  dead  within  the  year. 
I  see  the  rock  that  ends  you.  Then  no  more  airs  for 
you. 

THE    MONK    OF    THE    THEBAID 

[To  himself.] 

This  is  a  religious  edifice — heavily  material  but  of 
small  pomp — Christian,  possibly.  That  spirit  yon- 


THE  SPRING  RECITAL  163 

der  (he  surveys  the  minister  of  St.  Giles)  was  also  a 
priest  of  sorts  I  take  it,  and  these  three  Egyptians — 
how  they  strut!  They  give  themselves  airs  because 
of  the  memory  of  them  and  their  rites  that  endures  in 
the  world. 

THE    MINISTER    OF    ST.    GILES 

[Surveying  the  monk.'} 

A  sombre  flagellant.  I  wonder  has  he  outgrown 
his  earthly  illusion!  (He  approaches.)  Brother — 
do  I  not  meet  an  emancipated  spirit? 

THE    MONK 

You  do.  Centuries  of  observation  have  taught  me 
what  earthly  search  could  not.  I  smile  at  the  folly 
of  this.  (He  waves  an  inclusive  hand  about  him.) 

THE    MINISTER    OF    ST.    GILES 

And  I,  I  also — though  I  was  of  stern  faith  in  my 
day,  and  of  this  very  creed.  Even  now  I  suspect 
some  discoverable  power  worthy  of  worship.  My 
mere  persistence  causes  me  to  wonder  though  it  does 
not  explain  me  to  myself. 

THE    MONK 

Nor  does  mine  to  me,  nor  the  persistence  of  their 
seeming  reality  to  them.  (He  points  through  the 
transparent  walls  of  the  church  to  where  outside 


164  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 

moving  streams  of  shadows — automobiles,  belated 
wagons,  and  pedestrians  are  to  be  seen — and  to  the 
lovers.)  Yet  there  is  no  answer  that  I  can  discover 
— at  least  I  drift  and  speculate.  How  much  longer 
shall  we  persist  ?  I  often  ask  myself.  They  (  he  waves 
a  hand  at  the  mass  outside)  have  their  faith,  futile  as 
it  is.  A  greater  darkness  has  fallen  on  you  and  me. 
Endless  persistence  for  us  if  we  must,  let  us  say, 
but  merging  at  last  into  what? 

THE    MINISTER    OF    ST.    GILES 

Ay,  what !  And  when  I  died  I  imagined  I  should 
meet  my  maker  face  to  face. 

THE    MONK 

\_Smttmg.~] 

And  I  the  same.  And  they — (He  nods  toward  the 
Egyptians) — their  gods  were  as  real  to  them, — shad 
ows  all  of  the  unknowable. 

THE    ORGANIST 

[Plunging  into  the  minor-theme,  which  speedily 
dies  off  into  unfathomable  mysteries  of  bud 
notes  and  tones.} 

I  wonder  if  I'm  boring  them  by  this  heavy  stuff. 
Still  what  do  I  care  ?  There  are  only  four. 

[Nevertheless  he  passes  from  the  Grail  motif  in 
to  the  dance  of  the  flower  maidens.'] 


THE  SPRING  RECITAL  165 

THE    BOY 

Isn't  it  lovely ! 

THE    GIRL 

Perfect ! 

THE    ORGANIST 

Lovely  and  very  difficult.  These  pedals  are  work 
ing  rather  stiffly, — and  that  automobile  has  to  honk 
just  now. 

[He  fingers  lightly  three  notes  of  a  major  key 
indicative  of  woodland  echoes  and  faint  bird 
notes.  Re-enter  the  barrel-house  BUM,  who 
is  seeking  anything  that  will  amuse  him.] 

THE    BUM 

Still  playing !  Hell !  And  there  are  those  two  old 
stuffs  of  women.  Not  an  idea  between  'em. 

[He  turns  to  go  but  catches  sight  of  the  monk 
and  the  Egyptians.  He  pauses,  and  then 
turns  back.] 

THE    MONK 

[Addressing  the  Egyptians.] 

Soothing  harmonies  these!  Most  strange  combi 
nations,  the  reason  for  which  we  cannot  guess,  the 
joy  and  beauty  of  which  we  know.  I  find  earthly 
harmonies  very  grateful. 


166  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 

FIRST    PRIEST 

And  I.     But  I  cannot  fathom  the  origin  of  them. 

[He  observes  the  BUM   and  dematerializes  to 

avoid  him.     The  others  follow.     When  they 

reappear  in  another  part  of  the  church  the 

BUM  instantly  pursues  them.] 

THE  BUM 

[Staring  interrogatively  and  irritatingly  at  the 
monk  and  the  Egyptians,  who,  however,  pay 
not  the  slightest  attention  to  him.~\ 
You  thought  you  knew  somepin'  when  you  were 
alive,  didn'  jah?  You  thought  you  were  smart,  huh? 
You  thought  you'd  find  out  somepin'  when  yuh  died, 
huh?  Well,  yuh  got  fooled,  didn'  jah?  You're  like 
all  the  other  stuffs  that  walk  about  and  think  they 
know  a  lot.  Yuh  got  left.  Har!  Har!  Har!  (He 
chortles  vibrantly.)  I  know  as  much  as  you  fellers, 
and  I've  only  been  dead  a  dozen  years.  There  ain't 
no  answer!  Har!  Har!  Har!  There  ain't  no  an 
swer!  An'  here  you  are  floatin'  aroun'  in  them 
things!  (He  indicates  their  dress.)  Oh,  ho,  ho! 
(He  grins  maliciously  and  executes  a  crude  clog 
step.) 

THE    MONK 

[Repugnantly,  and  pulling  his  cowl  aside.] 
Away,    vile    creature — unregenerate    soul!      Has 


THE  SPRING  RECITAL  167 

even    the    nothingness    of    materiality    taught    you 
nothing? 

THE    BUM 

[Straightening  up  and  leering.'] 
Who's  vile?  What's  vile?  (He  thinks  to  become 
obstreperous  but,  recalling  his  nothingness,  grins 
contemptuously.)  You  think  you're  still  a  monk, 
don'  jah?  You  think  you're  good — better'n  any 
body  else.  What  jah  got  to  be  good  about,  eh? 
Oh,  ho,  ho,  ho,  ho !  Ah  bar,  bar,  bar,  bar !  He  thinks 
he's  still  a  rnonk — say,  cull — ! 

FIRST    PRIEST 

[To  the  monk  sympathetically.] 
Come  away,  friend.     Leave  him  to  his  illusions. 

SECOND    PRIEST 

Time  alone  can  point  out  the  folly  of  his  mood. 
Let  us  vanish. 

THE    MINISTER    OF    ST.    GILES 

[Drawing  near  and  scowling  at  the  BUM.] 
Out,  sot ! 

THE    BUM 

[Defiantly  and  yet  indifferently.'} 
Who's  a  sot?     An'  where's  out?     Oh,  ho,  ho,  ho, 
ho! 


168  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 

THE    ORGANIST 

[Passing  into  the  finale.] 

And  this  is  even  more  beautiful.  It  suggests 
graves  and  shrines — and  fauns  dancing.  But  I  don't 
propose  to  play  long  for  four  people ! ! 

[A  troop  of  FAUNS  and  NYMPHS  dance  in,  pur 
suing  and  eluding  each  other.  The  Six  HA- 
MA-DRYADS  return,  weaving  and  turning  in 
diaphanous  line.  A  passing  cloud  of  HAGS 
and  WASTRELS,  the  worst  of  the  earth  lovers, 
enticed  by  the  gaiety  of  sound,  enter  and  fill 
the  arches  and  the  vacant  spaces  for  the  mo 
ment,  skipping  about  in  wild  hilarity.  The 
BUM  joins  them,  dancing  deliriously.  Per 
sistences  of  fish  and  birds  and  animals,  at 
tracted  by  the  rhythm  which  is  both  color 
and  harmony  to  them,  turn  and  weave  among 
the  others.  Ancient  and  new  dead  of  every 
clime,  enamored  of  the  earth  life  and  wan 
dering  idly,  enter.  A  TIRED  PEDESTRIAN  of 
forty,  an  architect,  strolling  for  the  air  and 
hearing  the  melody,  enters.  After  him  come 
spirits  of  the  streets — a  doctor  and  two 
artisans,  newly  dead,  wondering  at  the 
sound.] 


THE  SPRING  RECITAL  169 

THE    MINISTER    OF    ST.    GILES 

[Noting  the  flood  of  hags  and  wastrels.] 
And   these   horrible   presences !      Succubi !      Will 
they  never  get  enough  of  materiality  ? 

THE    MONK 

In  my  day  the  Thebaid  was  alive  with  them — the 
scum  of  Rome  and  Alexandria,  annoying  us  holy  men 
at  our  devotions. 

THE    MINISTER    OF    ST.    GILES 

Do  you  still  identify  yourself  with  earthly  beliefs? 

THE    MONK 

A  phrase !  A  phrase !  In  the  presence  and  thought 
of  materiality  I  seem  to  partake  of  it. 

FIRST    PRIEST 

And  I !    A  sound  observation ! 

THIRD     PRIEST 

The  lure  of  life !  It  has  never  lost  its  charm  for 
me. 

THE    MINISTER    OF    ST.    GILES 

[To  himself.] 
Nor  for  me. 


170  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 

THE    FAUN 

[Cavorting  near,  his  kex  to  his  lips,  piping  vig 
orously.] 

Heavy  dolts!     Little  they  know  of  joy  except  to 
stare  at  it. 

THE    MINISTER    OF    ST.    GILES 

[Indicatmg  the  FAUN.] 
And  this  animal — to  profane  a  temple ! 


THE    MONK 

[Mischievously.  ] 

And  do  you  still  cling  to  earthly  notions  of  sanc 
tity? 

THE    MINISTER    OF    ST.    GILES 

I  hold,  as  I  have  said,  that  there  must  be  some 
power  that  explains  us. 


THE    SIX    HAMA-DRYADS 

[Dancing  and  singing.  ] 

Round  and  round  a  dozen  times, 

Three  times  up  and  three  times  down, 
Catch  a  shadow  circlewise, 

Fill  it  full  of  thistle  down. 


THE  SPRING  RECITAL  171 

Fill  it  up  and  then  away— 

How  can  stupid  mortals  know 

All  the  gladness  of  our  play- 
Where  the  dew-wet  odors  blow, 
Round  and  round  and  round  we  go ! 


THE  BUM 

[Spinning  nearJ\ 
This  is  glorious !    Gee ! 


FIRST    PRIEST 

[Unconscious  of  anything  save  the  charm  of  the 

rhythm.] 

Sweet  vibrations  these.  But  not  our  ancient  har 
monies.  In  our  time  they  were  different.  Would 
that  I  could  dance  thus ! 


SECOND    PRIEST 

Our  day!     Our  day!     Endless  memories  of  days, 
Oh,  for  an  hour  of  sealed  illusion! 


THE    BOY    LOVER 

Isn't  it  perfect! 

THE    GIRL 

Divine !    It's  like  a  dream,  and  I  want  to  cry. 


172  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 

THIRD    PRIEST 

The  harmony!  The  harmony!  (He  calls  his 
friends  and  points  to  the  BOY  and  GIRL.  The  three 
approach  and  stand  before  the  lovers,  mewing  them 
with  envious  eyes.)  In  ancient  Egypt — on  the  banks 
of  the  Nile — how  keen  was  this  thrill  of  existence! 
How  much  greater  is  their  reality  than  ours !  And 
all  because  of  their  faith  in  it. 

THE    MINISTER    OF    ST.    GILES 

[Heavily.'} 
I  grieve  for  life,  brother. 

THE    MONK 

And  I  also.  Would  that  I  might  return!  (They 
sigh.) 

THE    ORGANIST 

[Finishing  with  a  flourish.] 
Well,  there's  the  end  of  my  work  tonight. 

[He  closes  various  stops,  begins  to  gather  up  his 
music  and  turn  out  the  lights.  The  DRYADS 
and  NYMPHS  flood  out  of  the  windows,  fol 
lowed  by  FAUNS,  HAGS,  and  WASTRELS.  The 
green-eyed  BUM  starts  to  go,  but  pauses, 
looking  back  wistfully.  The  EGYPTIANS, 
fading  from  their  presence  as  such,  appear 
only  as  pale  -flames.'} 


THE  SPRING  RECITAL  173 

MRS.    STILLWATER 

[Pluming  herself.] 
Now  that  was  lovely,  wasn't  it? 

MRS.    PENCE 

Charming,  very  charming ! 

THE    BOY    LOVER 

Don't  you  love  Wagner? 

THE    GIRL 

I  do!     I  do! 

[In  the  shadows  they  embrace  and  kiss.'] 

THE    ORGANIST 

[Wearily,  as  he  bustles  down  the  stairs.] 
Why  should  I  play  any  more  for  four  people?    It's 
nine  o'clock.     A  half  hour  is  enough.     At  least  I  can 
find  a  little  comfort  at  the  Crystal  Garden. 

[He  thinks  of  an  immense  beer  place,  and  shrugs 
his  shoulders  the  while.  The  old  doorman, 
hearing  him  go  out,  prepares  to  put  out  the 
lights.] 

MRS.    STILLWATER 

[Rising.] 
I  do  believe  it's  over. 


174  THE  SPRING  RECITAL 

MRS.    PENCE 

Well,  there  are  so  few  you  can  scarcely  blame  him. 

THE    BUM 

[Gloomily.] 
Now  I  gotta  find  somepin'  else. 

THE    CHURCH    CAT 

[Prowling  toward  the  organ  loft  in  the  dark  of 

the  closed  church.'] 
Now  for  one  more  try  for  that  mouse. 


CURTAIN 


VI 
THE   LIGHT   IN   THE   WINDOW 


CHARACTERS 


TRTJRO  KJNDELLING,  a  social  butterfly. 

LAURA,  his  wife. 

JOHN  KITTS,  a  prosperous  hat  dealer. 

TUBES,  officer  of  the  beat. 

BURTON,  the  butler. 

Miss  WORTH  BUDD,  spinster. 

A  MILLIONAIRE  IRON  MANUFACTURER, 

A  MESSENGER  BOY, 

A  LAWYER, 

A  SCRUB  WOMAN, 

A  DEPARTMENT  STORE  MANAGER, 

A  DISH  WASHER, 

A  YOUNG  SCRIBBLER, 

A  SHOP  GIRL, 

MRS.  COUPLES,  a  neighbor, 

MRS.  ARTHUR  DEEKER, 


.Passers-by. 


HAND  ORGAN. 


THE   LIGHT    IN   THE   WINDOW 

SCENE 

The  best  residence  section  of  an  old  but  fash 
ionable  district  in  the  heart  of  a  great  city. 
To  the  east  and  west  and  south  large  districts 
of  trade  and  manufacture.  Crowds  of  work 
ers  and  organizers  of  all  degrees  of  ability 
and  prosperity  pour  across  and  through  it 
at  all  hours.  At  the  corner  of  two  intersect 
ing  streets  where  the  tide  of  traffic  is  heaviest 
a  large  square  brick  house  with  white  marble 
steps  and  window  lintels.  A  wide  parquetry 
stone  walk  leads  to  the  front  door  and  about 
one  side  of  the  house  to  the  rear.  A  low  box 
hedge  encloses  uniform  lawn  spaces.  Square 
French  windows  are  decorated  at  the  bottom 
by  boxes  containing  dwarf  evergreens  and 
English  ivy  sufficiently  hardy  to  survive  the 
winter.  The  interior  faces  of  the  windows 
are  fitted  with  thin  net  of  delicate  texture  and 
the  sides  draped  with  warm  yellow  brocade, 
visible  from  the  street  in  the  daytime  or  when 
the  interior  is  lighted  at  night. 

On  the  outside,  of  a  late  December  evening, 
177 


178        THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW 

heavy  -flakes  of  snow  are  falling  and  the  street 
is  already  white.  Interiorly  the  rear  parlor 
is  lighted  by  a  tall  lamp,  shaded  with  yellow 
silk.  Looking  in  through  the  windows  a  fire, 
judged  by  a  -flickering  glow,  is  burning  some 
where.  Before  it,  not  visible  from  the  street, 
a  man  <  and  woman,  the  former  standing,  the 
latter  sitting.  Outside  the  ruck  of  traffic  and 
pedestrians,  the  majority  of  whom  give  the 
old  house  at  least  a  passing  glance. 

A  MILLIONAIRE  IRON  MANUFACTURER 

[Speeding  north  in  his  brown  limousine,  to  a 
wealthy  customer  whom  he  is  taking  home  to 
dinner.] 

One  of  the  oldest  and  prettiest  residences  of  this 
section.  I  once  tried  to  buy  it !  Owned  now  by  the 
Kindellings — one  of  the  best  families  here.  (They 
speed  past.) 

JOHN  KITTS 

[A  prosperous  hat  dealer,  to  OFFICER  TUBES, 

whom  he  has  encountered  on  his  way  home, 

talking  on  the  street  corner  opposite.'} 

Yes,  old  Col.  Kindelling  used  to  be  a  great  figure 

around  here.     I've  seen  him  with  his  boy  who  lives 

over  there  now — a  big,  broad-chested,  side-whiskered 

man.    The  mother's  a  hard,  cold,  clever  woman,  they 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW        179 

say.    I've  seen  her,  too,  but  not  often.     I  don't  know 
much  about  the  boy. 


OFFICER    TUBES 


[With  an  air  of  knowing  much  more  than  he 

cares  to  communicate.'] 

Many's  the  time  I've  seen  him  comin'  in  with  more 
than  was  good  for  him — and  her,  too. 


MR.  KITTS 


[With  a  thought  to  his  own  children]. 
What  the  father  earns  the  children  spend. 


LAURA    KINDELLING 


[Formerly  the  principal  of  the  Lyceum  Players, 
and  the  heroine  of  an  unsanctioned  society- 
theatrical  marriage,  rising  and  walking  irri 
tably  to  the  mantel.  She  is  of  medium  height, 
lithe,  graceful,  with  a  wealth  of  brown  hair, 
and  trailing  an  afternoon  gown  of  green  vel 
vet.  Her  hands  are  unfortunately  much  too 
plump — her  face  the  rounded  oval  of  the  pet 
ted  beauty.'] 

You  know  I  never  said  that!  I  never  gave  her  the 
least  cause  to  take  offense.  She's  never  forgiven  you 
for  marrying  me,  that's  all.  She  resented  it  from 
the  first,  and  she  resents  it  now.  Has  she  ever  called 


180        THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW 

on  us  except  to  suggest  that  you  go  somewhere  with 
out  me?  Has  she  ever  written  a  letter  that  hasn't 
had  a  criticism  or  a  suggestion  that  wasn't  directed 
against  me  in  it?  Has  she — I  ask  you? 


A    MESSENGER    BOY 

[Passing  and  observing  the  glow  in  the  window 

through  the  snow.'] 

Gee !  I  wish  I  could  live  like  dat !  It  must  be  nice 
to  be  rich. 

GEORGE    WILSON    ATTERSON 

[A    sentimental  lawyer,   living  at   the  Elzevir 

Club  in  the  next  block.] 

The  snow  gives  that  doorway  a  very  artistic  look 
in  this  light.  Red  brick  through  snow  is  very  effec 
tive.  And  that  yellow  light !  If  I  could  only  find 
the  right  woman  and  establish  a  comfortable  home 
like  that.  (His  footfalls  sink  noiselessly  into  the 
fresh  fallen  snow.) 

TRURO    KINDEI/LING 

[A  sleek,  languid,  carefully  dressed  individual 
of  good  height,  but  no  great  force — disturbed 
and  bored,  and  finding  it  difficult  to  conceal 
his  mood,  but  admitting  to  himself  the  truth 
of  his  wife's  charges.  One  carefully  poised 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW        181 

hand  is  twirling  first  one  and  then  the  other 
of  a  handsome  pair  of  mustaches.  The  other 
is  resting  on  the  mantel.] 

But,  Laura !  I  know  you  don't  understand  mother. 
I'm  sure  you  never  have.  She  isn't  as  tactful  as  she 
might  be — at  times — owing  to  her  affection  for  me, 
perhaps ;  but  as  to  that,  if  you  didn't  take  such  a 
savage  attitude — 

LAURA 

[Irritably  and  scornfully. ,] 

Savage  attitude !  Tactless !  I'd  like  to  know  who 
has  been  savage  if  she  hasn't.  She  didn't  try  to  get 
you  to  come  and  visit  Great  Oaks  alone  the  third 
week  we  were  married,  did  she?  She  didn't  get  you 
to  stay  there  two  weeks  when  you  only  went  to  stay  a 
day — did  she? 

TRURO 

[Lying  whole-heartedly.] 
But  she  was  sick  when  I  got  there — 

LAURA 

Sick!  Sick!  Yes,  I  know  how  sick  she  was.  She 
wasn't  so  sick  but  what  she  could  go  to  the  Redowa's 
house  party  and  the  Shadow  Plains  Hunt,  and  you 
with  her.  Oh  (as  KINDELLING'S  eyes  lift),  you 
needn't  try  to  deny  it.  I  know!  Kitty  Stapleton 
was  there  and  she  told  me.  (KINDELLING  abandons 


182        THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW 

his  hope  of  lying  out  of  it  and  relaxes  his  eyes.)   And 
all  the  time  I  thought  you  were  telling  me  the  truth. 

A    SCRUB    WOMAN 

[Making  her  way  toward  one  of  the  office  build 
ings  south. 1 

Ah,  the  rich  have  the  easy  time!  No  worries  .  .  . 
and  the  warm  fire  .  .  .  and  the  good  bed.  .  .  . 
(She  pulls  unthinkingly  at  her  brown  shawl,  and 
trudges  on.) 

TRURO    KINDEKLING 

[Thinking  as  LAURA  talks. ,] 

Mother  really  does  dislike  her  terribly.  I  never 
imagined  she  could  be  so  bitter.  I'll  never  get  a  dol 
lar  of  the  estate  as  long  as  she  can  prevent  it — as 
long  as  I  stay  with  Laura.  She  is  even  going  to  hold 
up  that  inheritance  of  Uncle  Will's  unless  I  divorce' 
her  and  marry  some  one  she  approves  of — and  on 
the  ground  of  incompetence.  If  I  sue!  Gad!  And 
yet  she  loves  me.  I  don't  know  but  what  she's  right 
at  that.  Laura  isn't  in  our  set,  and  I  can't  put  her 
there.  (He  decides  what  to  answer.)  The  fact  is 
we  went  both  times  because  she  was  feeling  so  bad 
that  I  thought  the  outing  would  do  her  good.  She 
was  sick  all  right. 

LAURA 

Oh,  was  she?  Well,  you  forget  jjjiat  you  told  me 
that  you  hadn't  gone  anywhere.  That  your  mother 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW        183 

had  been  too  sick  to  leave  the  house !     (Her  lip  curls 
contemptuously. ) 


KINDELLING 

[Not  recalling  that  he  ever  made  such  a  state 
ment,  but  judging  it  to  be  true.] 
When  did  I  say  that?    I  don't  recall  making  such 
a  statement.     (To  himself.)     Gad!    She  has  a  sharp 
tongue !    Perhaps  mother's  right.    I  did  make  a  mis 
erable  mistake  in  marrying  her.     She's  beautiful,  but 
she's  slovenly,  and  she  never  takes  the  hair  out  of 

her  comb.    Now  Althea  Cameron (He  thinks  to 

find  an  opportunity  to  pet  her  and  so  soften  her 
mood.) 

A    BRISK    DEPARTMENT    STORE    MANAGER 

[In  charge  of  white  goods  at  Swintorfs — Chris 
tian,  home  loving,  believing  in  all  the  con 
ventions  as  preached.] 

Now,  that  is  what  I  call  a  lovely  home.  All  peace 
and  quiet  and  family  affection.  Hard-earned,  no 
doubt.  After  all,  prosperity  depends  on  moral  order 
and  honesty.  People  get  rich  and  stay  rich  because 
they  deserve  to. 

[He  eyes  a  shabby  restaurant  dish  washer  who 
is  passing  with  suspicion  as  to  his  moral 
worth.] 


184        THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW 

THE    DISH    WASHER 

Gee !  That  light  through  the  snow  makes  me  think 
of  Christmas.  I  wish  I  could  buy  Annie  a  new  coat. 

MRS.  KINDELLING 

Why,  just  after  you  came  back.  You  have  an 
awfully  poor  memory,  Truro.  You're  not  the  one  to 
try  to  lie  out  of  things.  (She  smiles  superiorly.) 
You're  letting  your  mother  poison  your  mind  against 
me  in  spite  of  anything  I  can  do  or  say.  I  can  tell. 

KINDELUNG 

What  do  you  mean — poisoning  my  mind?  I  don't 
see  that  I've  changed  any.  (He  resumes  his  former 
position  before  the  fire.) 

MRS.    KINDELLING 

[Bitterly,  and  with  a  touch  of  heart  pain  as  she 
recalls  the  intoxication  of  the  first  six 
months.'] 

Oh,  don't  you!  You  don't  recall  how  you  laced 
my  shoes  and  corsets  every  morning,  do  you!  Or 
that  you  insisted  on  buttering  my  bread  and  sugar 
ing  my  coffee,  and  bringing  me  my  negligee.  (She 
represses  a  tendency  to  sob.)  You've  done  those 
things  every  day  this  year,  haven't  you?  (Her  eyes 
harden  as  she  thinks  of  his  mother.) 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW        185 

KINDELUNG 

[Wincing  at  the  memory  of  his  lapsed  passions, 
but  desiring  not  to  revive  them,  and  yet  jail 
ing  to  connect  the  change  with  his  mother.] 
Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  haven't  done  any  of 
those  things  this  year? 
I 

MRS.    KINDEKLING 

{Her  eyes  swelling  confutingly.] 
You  know  you  haven't ! 

KINDELMNG 

[Defiantly,  and  not  wishing  to  put  himself  m  a 
position  where  more  billing  and  cooing  will  be 
necessary.] 

Well,  anyhow,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  connect 
mother  with  that. 

MRS.    KINDELIJNG 

{Realizing  that  another  affectional  transport 
has  eluded  her,  and  troubled  by  the  ominous 
import  of  his  indifference.] 

It's  always  mother,  never  me.  How  can  you  stand 
there  and  say  that  she  isn't  poisoning  your  mind 
when  over  eight  months  ago  you  were  planning  to  sue 
if  your  inheritance  wasn't  released  and  here  you  are, 
just  where  you  were  before.  First  she  was  sure  to 


186        THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW 

love  me  and  we  were  to  live  at  Great  Oaks ;  then  after 
she  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me,  you  were 
going  to  stay  away  from  her  and  let  her  do  as  she 
pleased ;  we  were  going  to  live  in  Europe ;  then  you 
had  to  go  there  and  try  to  persuade  her  to  give  you 
what  is  yours,  what  you  could  get  by  sueing.  Now 
there  isn't  a  week  goes  by  without  your  spending 
at  least  two  or  three  days  with  her,  and  maybe  more. 
It's  mother  here  and  mother  there,  and  mother  this 
and  mother  that,  while  I  sit  here  and  get  no  more 
consideration  than  a  housekeeper  or  a  servant.  (Her 
eyes  blaze.) 

KINDEKLING 

[Thinking  of  Althea  Cameron — the  daughter 
of  the  millionaire  bond  broker — whom  his 
mother  favors  and  to  marry  whom  his  mother 
plans  to  have  him  divorce  his  wife.  He  sees 
her  slim,  aloof,  not  nearly  so  animal  or  tact 
less  as  LAURA.  On  marrying  her  his  mother's 
fortune  would  come  to  him  without  question 
— as  well  as  Althea.] 

Well — she's  my  mother,  isn't  she?  You  don't  ex 
pect  me  to  ignore  her  entirely?  Besides — she  has 
me  in  her  power — you  know  that.  What  can  we  do 
without  money?  We've  talked  it  over  lots  of  times. 
She  can  keep  my  share  of  father's  fortune  or  give  it 
away  if  she  wants  to.  It  was  left  entirely  to  her. 
{A  vision  of  his  father's  contempt  for  him  clouds  his 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW        187 

thought  for  a  moment.)  As  for  that  eighty  thou 
sand  Uncle  Will  left,  I  know  she  hasn't  any  right  to 
keep  it  back,  but  she  threatens  to  declare  me  incom 
petent  if  I  sue  her.  (He  assumes  as  good  a  look  of 
injured  innocence  as  he  may.) 

iLATTBA 

[Turning  on  him  bitterly.'} 
Is  that  why  you  have  changed  toward  me  ? 

KINDELLING 

[To  whom  the  idea  comes  as  a  blow.] 
Why  no,  certainly  not.    What  makes  you  say  that 
I  have  changed  when  I  haven't? 

LAURA 

[Heavily  and  sneeringly.~\ 

No,  you  haven't.  But  you're  preparing  to  go  out 
for  the  third  time  this  week  to  your  mother's !  That 
isn't  any  sign  of  change,  is  it?  Oh,  I  know  what  she 
wants  !  You  needn't  try  to  deceive  me !  She  thinks 
I  can  be  bought  off,  and  you  can  marry  someone  else, 
— that  Althea  Cameron  she  and  you  are  always  go 
ing  around  with.  You  think  I  don't  know,  don't 
you?  You  think  I'm  a  silly  fool.  Well,  I'll  show 
you  and  her.  (She  walks  passionately  toward  one  of 
the  front  windows  and  begins  to  sob.) 


188        THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW 

BURTON 

[The  butler,  who  has  been  requested  to  order 

the  car,  entering  from  the  dining  room.] 
The  car's  here,  sir. 

KINDELUNG 

[Remorseful  for  the  moment,  but  noting  that 
she  is  less  graceful  than  Althea  Cameron,  and 
that  her  face  takes  on  unsatisfactory  lines 
when  crying.]  Very  well,  Burton.  (To 
LAURA) : 

Now,  Laura — really  you  are  impossible  at  times. 
Whatever  put  such  an  idea  in  your  head?  You  know 
it  isn't  true.  I  promised  her  to  go.  My  troubles  are 
certainly  enough  without  your  adding  to  them.  You 
must  see  how  it  is.  (He  approaches  to  lay  a  con^ 
soling  but  indifferent  hand  on  her.) 

A    YOUNG    SCRIBBLER 

[An  assistant  magazine  editor  and  self-imagined 
poet — seeing  the  car  in  front  and  her  in  the 
shadow,  outlined  against  the  light.] 
Ah,    the    lovely    woman!      A    maiden — probably 
dreaming  of  love !    And  wealthy !    If  only  some  rich 
and  beautiful  girl  would  fall  in  love  with  me.     A 
house  like  that  and  an  automobile. 

[He  stiffens  himself  so  as  to  present  his  best 
address  and  walks  stiffly  by.  His  thoughts 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW        189 

are  on  how  well  he  would  look  paying  court 
to  one  such  in  an  exceptional  parlor.] 


MRS.  COUPLES 

[A  resident  of  one  of  the  side  streets,  a  simple , 
homely  housewife,  fond  of  her  husband  and 
her  children — noting  the  glow  of  the  windows 
in  the  deepening  gloom.] 

That  house  always  looks  so  charming,  so  well  kept. 
It  must  be  a  happy  family  that  lives  there.  They 
certainly  love  flowers  and  they  have  everything  to 
make  them  happy. 

BURTON 

[The  butler,  surveying  Schrieber,  the  gardener, 
who  is  packing  in  a  small  tree  for  the  winter 
in  the  back  yard.     BURTON  is  comfortably 
lounging  in  the  warm  dining  room.] 
'E  might  V  done  that  a  month  ago,  the  loafer. 
And  the  'edge   not   clipped   this   fall   either.      {He 
sniffs.) 

A    LITTLE    SHOP    GIRL 

[Bustling  home,  full  of  impossible  romance,  and 
surveying  the  windows  and  the  car  with  burst 
ing  sentiment.] 

Oh,  to  be  rich!  And  happy!  (She  pictures  a  so 
ciety  youth  imploring  her  to  be  his.) 


190        THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW 

OFFICER    TUBES 

[Beating  the  lamp  post  with  his  club,  and  still 

talking  to  MR.  KITTS.] 

I  saw  that  Truro  Kindelling  riding  with  his  wife 
here  the  other  day.  His  name  was  in  the  paper  not 
long  ago.  He  won  some  coaching  prize  or  other. 

MR.  KITTS 

Oh,  yes,  he's  well  known  for  that.  There's  some 
trouble  between  his  mother  and  the  daughter-in-law 
as  I  understand  it.  Old  Colonel  Kindelling  didn't 
think  much  of  his  son,  I  guess.  He  left  everything  to 
his  wife  to  do  with  as  she  chose. 


OFFICER    TUBES 

These  rich  sons  don't  know  what  to  do  with  their 
money — half  of  them.  (He  strikes  an  attitude  in 
dicative  of  his  own  ability  as  a  careful  citizen.) 

LAURA 

Don't  touch  me!  Don't  come  near  me!  I  know 
how  it  is.  I  know  how  you  feel.  If  you  didn't  you 
wouldn't  have  neglected  me  the  way  you  have.  ( The 
thought  passes  through  her  mind  that  she  enjoys  her 
self  elsewhere  than  at  home  on  occasions,  but  she  puts 
it  aside.)  Anyone  who  can  let  his  mother  act  as 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW        191 

yours  has  toward  me  and  still  neglect  his  wife  for 
her  certainly  don't  care  much.  (She  waits  for  him 
to  make  some  comment,  but  he  merely  stares  at  her.) 
If  there's  nothing  more  than  that  left  I'd  better  let 
you  get  a  divorce,  and — (The  telephone  bell  rings.) 
There  she  is  now!  You  haven't  come  soon  enough. 
(She  snaps  her  teeth  savagely.) 

BURTON 

[Appearing  at  the  door.] 

You're  wanted  on  the  phone,  sir.  (KINDELIJNG 
and  BURTON  leave.) 

MRS.    ARTHUR    DEEKER 

[Speeding  north  in  her  machine  and  noting  the 

lights.] 

It  looks  as  though  the  Kindellings  were  home  to 
night.  He  must  find  it  dull  since  he  can't  take  her 
out  anywhere.  (She  subsides  into  her  furs.) 

MISS    MARTHA    BUDD 

[ A  spinster  saleslady,  occupying  the  -front  room 
in  a  boarding  house  opposite  on  the  side 
street,  preparing  to  go  down  to  a  lonely  din 
ner.  From  her  window  she  can  survey  the 
entire  Kindelling  home.] 
It  is  so  dreadful  to  be  lonely.  I  haven't  a  single 


192        THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW 

place  to  go.  Another  evening  of  reading.  (She 
notes  the  light  opposite.)  If  I  only  had  a  home! 
Think  of  all  those  who  are  rich  and  happy. 

MR.  KITTS 

When  I  was  in  Havana  once  the  Colonel  came  down 
there  with  his  horses  and  autos.  He  had  an  immense 
sugar  plantation  among  other  things. 

LAURA 

[A  lone,  soliloquizing.  ] 

I  know  it's  she,  the  devil.  Now  for  one  last  play. 
If  he  goes  tonight,  after  all  I've  said,  all  is  lost.  I 
might  as  well  give  up. 

[She  goes  to  the  mirror  and  back,  distrait,  a 
kind  of  horror  of  defeat  upon  her,  takes  out 
her  handkerchief  and  begins  to  cry.~] 

KINDELLING 

[Coming  in.~\ 

It's  mother — I'm  late  as  it  is.  (Looks  at  his 
watch.)  I  promised  to  be  there  at  six-thirty.  (He 
notes  her  tears.)  Why  will  you  cry,  Laura?  I 
haven't  changed,  really  I  haven't.  (To  himself.) 
This  is  a  damned  nuisance.  (Comes  over  and  puts 
his  arm  about  her.)  Why  not  let  this  go  until  to 
morrow.  I  have  to  go  tonight.  I  promised.  She 
has  guests  there  who  are  expecting  to  meet  me.  But 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW        193 

tomorrow—      (He  pauses,  disturbed  that  he  has  been 
so  foolish  as  to  mention  guests  and  another  day.) 

LAURA 

[Taking  fire  at  the  thought  of  pleasant  and 
possibly  alluring  company  while  she  remains 
at  home.  She  hopes  he  will  invite  her  to  ride 
with  him.~\ 

Are  you  really  going?  I  suppose  your  dear  Al- 
thea  will  be  there,  the  cat!  Doesn't  the  fact  that  I 
am  here  alone  while  you  are  away  enjoying  yourself 
make  any  difference  to  you  at  all?  Don't  you  love 
me  any  more  in  any  way?  (She  begins  sobbing  dra 
matically.) 

KINDELLING 

[Thinking  to  himself  as  LAURA  weeps. ~\ 
This  is  really  too  much.  Mother  is  right.  Why 
should  I  stick  to  some  one  of  whom  I  am  tired?  I'm 
sorry — I  made  a  mistake,  that's  all.  Laura  whines 
too  much.  She's  too  clinging.  She's  too  sharp 
tongued.  £  think  when  I  go  tonight  I'll  stay  a  long 
time  and  see  what  she  does  about  that.  I  can  give 
her  a  hundred  thousand  eventually.  It's  the  only 
way.  (He  addresses  her.)  Now  I  must  go,  Laura — 
I  can't  get  out  of  it.  This  is  nonsense.  I'll  come 
back  late  in  the  evening  if  you  wish,  but  I  must  go 
now — really.  You  mustn't  keep  me.  (He  begins  to 
loose  the  hand  which  she  has  laid  on  his  shoulder.) 


194        THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW 


LAURA 

[Realizing  that  she  is  in  danger  of  defeat  and 

beginning  to  moan.] 
Oh,  dear !    Oooh,  dear ! 

KINDELLING 

[Irritated  and  therefore  firm.~\ 
Now,  Laura,  this  is  ridiculous.  Here  I  have  a  din 
ner  appointment  with  my  own  mother  at  six-thirty, 
and  at  seven  or  nearly  so  I  am  still  here,  arguing  with 
you.  You  always  begin — just  at  this  time  when  I 
have  to  leave.  I  haven't  time  now,  and  I've  got  to  go. 
What  you  say  isn't  true,  and  anyway  I'm  not  going 
to  stop  and  argue  it  now.  Mother  isn't  as  terrible  as 
you  think — and  anyhow  (he  loosens  her  hand  and 
puts  her  away  gently  but  firmly)  there's  no  use  in 
our  taking  this  particular  time  to  settle  it. 

[He  starts  to  move,  but  she  clings  to  him.  He 
forces  her  hands  off  and  moving  to  a  chaise 
longue  puts  her  into  it.~\ 

LAURA 

[Hysterically,  sensing  the  import  of  his  depar 
ture.] 

Oh,  God !  Oh,  God !  He  forsakes  his  own  wife  for 
his  mother,  and  another  woman,  and  after  only  two 
years!  To  think  that  I  should  come  to  this.  To 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW        195 

think  that  that  cold,  scheming  cat  should  be  able  to 
separate  us — and  after  all  that  has  been  between  us ! 
Oh,  oh,  oh!!! 

KINDELLING 

[Seeing  an  excuse  for  anger  and  anxious  to  use 

it  to  effect  a  permanent  separation.'} 
You  call  her  a  cat? 

LAURA 

[Losing  her  self-control  and  her  tact.~\ 
Yes,  I  do.  She's  a  vile,  treacherous,  cold-hearted, 
scheming  woman,  and  you  know  it.  She  planned  to 
twist  you  around  her  finger,  and  she's  done  it. 
You're  no  better  than  she  is.  You're  just  as  anxious 
to  break  with  me  as  she  is  to  have  you.  You're  both 
in  a  scheme  to  wreck  my  life.  (She  pauses,  realizing 
she  has  said  too  much. ) 


KINDELLING 

[Coldly  and  with  an  air  of  injured  innocence.] 
Oh,  very  well — if  that's  the  way  you  look  at  it.  I 
don't  see  that  we're  very  well  mated  as  it  is.  You 
go  your  way  and  I'll  go  mine.  I'll  not  stay  to  listen 
to  your  charges.  This  is  the  end  so  far  as  I'm  con 
cerned.  (He  steps  into  the  hall  and  takes  down  his 
hat  and  coat.) 


196        THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW 

BURTON 

[Who  lias  overheard  much  of  the  storm,  appear 
ing  to  assist  him.] 

Will  you  be  coming  back  before  midnight  tonight, 
Mr.  Truro? 

KINDEKLING 

[Irritably.] 

I'll  not  be  back  at  all  tonight,  Burton  ( to  himself) , 
or  ever,  I  hope. 

BURTON 
[Smugly.] 

Very  well,  sir.     (Fearing  the  possible  approach  of 
MRS.  KENDELLING  he  discreetly  retreats.) 

LAURA 

[Realizing  that  she  has  overplayed  her  part  and 

that  he  has  a  seeming  excuse  for  anger.] 
Oh,  Truro,  I  didn't  mean  that.  I  wasn't  thinking 
what  I  was  saying.  I  was  just  angry  and  hurt. 
(She  sees  him  pull  on  his  overcoat  with  a  jerk  and 
imagines  him  temporarily  outraged.)  Please  don't 
go.  Please  don't  say  you  mean  to  go  for  good.  It 
was  just  a  slip  of  the  tongue — really  it  was.  I  didn't 
mean  it.  I  know  you  love  me — some,  anyhow.  Oh, 
Truro !  (He  puts  on  his  hat  and  pushes  his  way  to 
the  door.)  Oh,  Truro!  Truro!  Please  don't  go! 
Please  don't !  Please  tell  me  that  you  love  me  before 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW        197 

you  do,  anyhow !    (He  opens  the  door  and  pushes  out 
into  the  entry  way.)     Truro!    For  God's  sake! 


KINDEIXING 

[Forcefully,  irritably,  taking  full  advantage  of 

his  chance. ,] 

Let  go!  (He  forces  Tier  hands  loose  from  about 
his  neck  and  pushes  her  back.)  What  do  you  want! 
All  the  neighbors  to  hear  you  ?  I've  done,  I  tell  you ; 
you're  too  much  for  me!  (He  pushes  her  in,  pulls 
the  door  to,  runs  down  the  steps  and  jumps  into  the 
car.  To  the  chauffeur)  :  Mother's. 

LAURA 

[Reopening  the  door  frantically.] 
Truro!      Truro!      Oh,    for   God's    sake,    Truro! 
Don't  leave  me !    Don't  leave  me,  Truro !    Oh,  Truro, 
if  you  love  me —      (She  sees  him  disappear  in  the 
snow  up  street.) 

OFFICER    TUBES 

[Noting  the  exit.] 

But  it's  a  beautiful  home  they  have,  servants  and 
autos,  and  all  that. 

MR.  KITTS 
And  twenty  millions  when  his  mother  dies. 


198       THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW 

OFFICEE    TUBES 

And  twenty  millions. 

THE    SPINSTER 

[In  her  front  room,  noting  KINDELIJNG'S  de 
parture.] 

A  man  to  love  you!     To  take  you  in  his  arms  in 
front  of  a  warm  fire ! 

LAURA 

[Twisting  Tier  hands  feverishly'].  But  he  must 
come  back!  He  will!  He  can't  mean  that — so 
soon—  Oh,  my  God!  My  God!  (She  runs  fe 
verishly  to  dress  and  follow  him.] 

A    HAND    ORGAN 

[Wheeling  into  position  in  front  of  the  house.] 
Everybody's  doin'  it,  doin'  it,  doin'  it — 
Everybody's  doin'  it,  doin'  it,  doin'  it — 

BURTON 

[From  the  library  window,  left  front.] 
Hi  do  wish  these  'ere  'and  organ  men  would  stop 
playing  in  front  of  hour  residence.  They're  always 
a  doing  of  it,  and  Hi've  spoken  to  the  hofficers  'ere- 
abouts  more  an  once.  Wretched  beggars!  (He 
frowns  darlcly.) 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW        199 

MR.    KITTS 

[Realizing  the  flight  of  time.'] 
Well,  good-night,  officer. 

OFFICER    TUBES 

[Staring  at  the  hand-organ  man,  but,  enjoy'mg 

the  melody,  permitting  him,  to  remain.~\ 
Good-night  to  you,  Mr.  Kitts. 


CURTAIN 


VII 
'OLD   RAGPICKER' 


CHARACTERS 

[Officers  of  adjoining  beats. 
MULLARKY,J 

"OLD  RAGPICKER." 
AN  OLD  WOMAN. 
A  GROCER  BOY. 

Children  and  Passers-by. 


"OLD    RAGPICKER" 

AN  EPISODE 

SCENE 

A  street  corner  in  the  lower  west  side  m  New 
York  City.  Low  red  brick  three  and  four 
story  buildings  make  the  prospect  on  either 
hand,  corners  almost  invariably  being  made 
into  stores.  In  the  front  of  one  of  them  and 
next  to  a  store  stand  two  garbage  cans  con 
spicuously  full. 

On  the  corner  under  the  wooden  awning  of  one 
of  two  stores  diagonally  opposite  to  each 
other  two  policemen  meet.  One,  the  officer 
of  the  beat,  is  an  oldish  man,  well  over 
forty,  genial,  contemptuous.  He  stands 
twirling  his  club  and  looking  indifferently 
about  him.  The  other,  younger  still,  a  brute 
of  a  boy,  but  polished  as  to  shoes  and  buttons, 
and  conspicuous  for  his  very  large  hands 
pmched  into  snow  white  cotton  gloves,  is 
equally  bored.  They  salute. 

TIME — Noon  of  a  raw,  January  day. 
203 


204  "OLD  RAGPICKER" 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

[Contemptuously  and  wearily,  desiring  to  show 

off  before  his  fellow  officer.] 

This  is  a  hell  of  a  beat,  this  is !  This  is  a  hell  of  a 
beat.  I've  chased  two  cats  out  of  a  garbage  can 
since  morning  and  made  one  drunk  move  on.  This  is 
a  hell  of  a  beat,  this  is !  (lie  twirls  his  stick.) 


OFFICER    MUI/LARKY 

[Also  contemptuously,  but  with  a  devil-may- 
care  air,  twirling  his  club  like  a  baton.] 
Whaddy  yah  want,  anyhow?  What're  yuh  lookin' 
for,  a  murder?  We  don't  have  any  thin'  like  that 
down  here.  This  is  a  respectable  neighborhood, 
this  is.  We  have  nice  people  here.  None  o' 
your  Brownsville,  Tottenville,  Canarsie  Shinannigans 
around  here.  These  people  go  to  church  on  Sunday. 
They're  respectable.  If  yuh  want  any  o'  them  other 
things  you'd  better  come  over  to  my  side  o'  town 
where  the  real  ones  lives. 


OFFICER    BROGAN 

Whadda  you  know  about  real  ones?  Ever 
pounded  the  pavements  in  Dugan's  flats  yet?  Ever 
walked  Hell's  Kitchen  between  one  and  six  in  the 
mornin'?  When  you've  handled  one  of  them  beats 


"OLD  RAGPICKER"  205 

for  a  year  or  so  you  can  talk.     I've  been  in  riots,  I 
have. 


OFFICER    MUL3L.ARKY 

[With  a  faint  curl  of  the  lipJ\ 
Riots? 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

Yes,  riots.  Real  live  riots,  an'  all  over  a  can  o' 
beer,  or  a  stranger  pas  sin'  the  time  o'  day  to  a  kid. 
None  o'  your  Jackrabbit  sports  in  them  neighbor 
hoods,  I  can  tell  you.  Real  live  riots  with  the  re 
serves  out — an'  heads  broken  for  a  block  aroun'. 
See  this  arm?  (He  pulls  up  a  coat  sleeve  and  bares 
his  wrist.)  That's  where  I  damned  near  had  me  left 
tendon  cut.  The  nut  was  makin'  for  my  neck.  If 
he'd  'a'  caught  me  he'd  've  opened  me  juggler,  an' 
I'd  a  been  a  dead  one  sure.  As  it  was  I  threw  me  hand 
up  like  this  and  caught  it  right  there.  Whadyyah 
know! 

OFFICER    MTJLLARKY 

[Interested.~\ 
Well,  whaddyja  do? 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

Whaddid  I  do?  Whaddid  I  do?  Yuh  better  ask 
me !  But  I'm  not  tellin'  what  I  did.  I  want  to  stay 
on  the  force  for  a  while,  yet,  I  guess.  (He  smiles  as 


206  "OLD  RAGPICKER" 

who  should  say,  "/  committed  endless  horrors!") 
But  if  he'd  ha'  reached  me  juggler  I  wouldn't  be  here 
now,  to  be  tellin'  about  it. 

OFFICER    MULLARKY 

[Condescendingly.  ] 
Pretty  tough,  eh? 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

[Shoving  his  thumbs  into  his  belt."] 
But  this  here  beat,  I  never  saw  the  like  of  this.     I 
might  as  well  be  on  dooty  in  Central  Park  watchin' 
the  sparrows.     There  ain't  nothin'  goin'  on  here.     I 
can  hardly  keep  me  eyes  open  half  the  time. 

[He  takes  out  his  stick  again  and  twirls  it  dis 
dainfully.] 

OFFICER    MULLARKT 

[Idly,  but  with  a  resigned  air.~\ 
Well,  it's  kinder  tough.     I  used  to  do  time  over 
here.     Ever  see  old  man  Windhorst  that  owns  the 
brewery?     He  lives  up  the  street  here. 

[He  jerks  a  thumb  over  his  shoulder.] 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

Sure.  I  seen  him  loads  of  times.  He  always  bids 
me  the  time  o'  day.  Nice  old  feller,  eh?  They  say 
he's  wort'  millions. 


"OLD  RAGPICKER"  207 

OFFICER    MTJIXARKY 

That  ain't  no  merry  jest,  either,  I  guess.  He 
give  ol'  Bealstock  when  he  had  the  beat  here  last 
Christmas  fifteen  dollars !  An'  him  ownin'  six  houses 
in  Hoboken !  Whaddy  yuh  know  ?  But  looket  what's 
comin'  up  the  street,  will  yuh  ?  Get  onto  the  walk — 
an'  the  pants  !  An'  no  overcoat,  either.  Gee !  But 
it's  tough! 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

That?  Oh,  that's  only  "Old  Ragpicker."  That's 
what  the  kids  call  him  aroun'  here.  He  don't  amount 
to  nothin'.  He's  harmless.  He's  been  aroun'  here  as 
long  as  I've  been  here,  an'  for  four  or  five  years  be 
fore,  they  say.  Didn'jah  ever  see  him  before? 

OFFICER    MULLARKY 

He's  a  new  one  on  me !    He's  nutty,  ain't  he  ? 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

Is  he  nutty?  His  gallery's  clean  empty.  He 
sleeps  over  on  the  water  front,  under  one  of  them 
docks.  He's  got  a  hole  over  there  that  he  creeps 
into  that's  somepin  awful.  I  followed  him  one 
night  before  I  knew  who  he  was,  thinkin'  he  might 
be  a  light-fingered  gent,  stagein'  it.  But  I  was 
wrong.  Say,  yuh  ought  to  see  the  place  he 
lives  in,  though.  It's  a  wonder !  I  don't  see  how 


208  "OLD  RAGPICKER" 

he  keeps  from  freezin'  in  this  weather.  Rags,  an' 
dirt,  an'  wet  piles !  I  onct  thought  o'  takin'  him  up 
to  be  kind  to  him,  but  I  changed  muh  mind.  He's 
makin'  a  livin',  an'  he's  as  well  off  here  as  he  would 
be  there.  (They  continue  to  gaze  up  the  street.) 
He  picks  rags  an'  tins  an'  bottles  out  o'  the  ash  cans. 
All  the  junk  men  aroun'  here  know  him.  They  don't 
give  him  very  much  for  them,  I  expect,  but  they  buy 
from  him.  He  never  steals  nothin',  I  guess.  Once  I 
seen  him  eatin'  a  piece  o'  bread  outen  an  ash  can,  an' 
another  time  a  potato.  It's  tough,  but  what  kin  yuh 
do  ?  I  tried  to  give  him  a  dime  onct,  but  he  wouldn't 
take  it.  I  couldn't  get  nothin'  outa  him.  He  just 
looked  at  me. 

OFFICER    MULLARKY 

He  wouldn'  take  the  dime  ? 


OFFICER    BROGAN 

Naaa-a-a-a ! 

OFFICER    MULLARKY 

He's  bats  alright. 

[Enter  "OLD  RAGPICKER."  He  is  a  man  be 
tween  sixty  and  seventy,  frowsy,  lean,  dirty. 
A  mop  of  grayish  white  hair  protrudes  from 
under  a  battered  felt  hat,  the  brim  of  which 
sags  down  on  all  sides.  His  face  is  long  and 
seamed  and  yellow.  His  eyes  are  bleary  and 


"OLD  RAGPICKER"  209 

the  rims  sore  and  red  with  dust  and  cold. 
His  hands  are  long  and  clawlike  and  dirty. 
His  coat  and  trousers  mere  torn  and  'flutter 
ing  rags,  showing  other  coats  and  trousers 
underneath.  His  shoes  are  loose,  mouldy  and 
broken.  He  walks  with  a  swinging  limp,  a 
great  hemp  bag  over  his  shoulder  in  which 
are  stuffed  cans,  bottles,  and  rags  in  lumpy 
confusion.] 


"OLD  RAGPICKER" 

[Spying  the  two  garbage  cans  beyond  the  offi 
cers,  and  pausing.  He  seems  totally  uncon 
scious  of  anyone,  passes,  looks  about,  looks 
into  the  cans,  then  turns  his  back  to  the  wall 
and  drops  his  pack.  He  clears  his  throat 
•feebly,  then  stirs  in  the  cans.~\ 
Eh  hem!  Eh  hem! 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

Look  at  that  now!    Will  yuh?    An'  them  clothes! 
Can  yuh  beat  it? 


OFFICER    MULLARKY 

The  limit,  eh? 


210  "OLD  RAGPICKER' 


[As  Tie  picks  over  one  thing  and  another,  finally 
extracting  a  tomato  can  and  a  milk  bottle.] 

They  always  eat  tomatoes.  Yes.  They  always 
eat  tomatoes.  Yes!  Lots  of  tomatoes!  It's  cold. 
My  hands  are  cold,  and  my  feet.  Yes.  Once  they 
were  warm.  Yes.  Once  they  were  warm  enough. 
Yes.  Now  they  are  cold.  No  matter.  (He  reaches 
down  and  finds  another  bottle,  this  time  a  small 
cream  one.)  Yes.  That's  a  milk  bottle  and  this 
is  a  cream  bottle.  Cream.  It's  a  long  time  since  I've 
had  that.  That'll  bring  me  one  cent.  Yes.  And 
this'll  bring  me  a  cent.  (He  holds  it  up.)  Once  I 
had  milk  and  cream,  and  a  farm,  too,  and  horses  and 
cows.  Yes,  I  did.  Once  I  had  horses  and  cows  and 
pigs.  People  worked  for  me  in  those  days,  men  did. 
Yes,  they  did.  You  wouldn't  believe  it  to  see  me 
now,  would  you?  Well,  they  did.  They  worked  for 
me.  Yes,  they  did.  (He  stirs  about  and  brings  up 
another  tomato  can.)  Another  tomato  can!  So 
many  of  'em  eat  tomatoes.  Yes,  they  do.  So  many 
of  'em  eat  tomatoes.  Yes.  So  many  eat  tomatoes. 
(He  stares  about  vacantly.) 

[A  young  woman  in  a  trim  business  suit  goes 
by  giving  him  a  wide  berth.  An  old  man  in  a 
black  fur-trimmed  coat  enters,  sending  him  a 
sidelong  glance,  and  goes  on.  An  old  woman 


"OLD  RAGPICKER" 

in  black  enters,  a  market  basket  on  her  arm, 
passes  a  few  steps  and  returns.] 


OI/D    WOMAN 


You  poor  man !  Aren't  you  cold?  Don't  you  want 
to  come  to  my  house  up  here  and  let  me  give  you  a 
coat  ?  I  have  an  old  one  that  would  fit  you  I'm  sure. 


[Surveying  her  with  only  slightly  comprehend 
ing  eyes.] 

A  coat?  Yes.  I  understand.  A  coat.  I'm  cold 
and  you  want  to  give  me  a  coat.  I  understand. 
Yes.  Once  I  was  warm,  but  now,  now  I'm  cold.  Yes. 
Once  I  lived  in  a  cellar  under  a  dock.  Yes.  Once  I 
picked  rags  and  bottles  and  tin  cans,  but  now,  now  I 
don't  do  that  any  more.  No.  Not  now.  Now  I'm  a 
manufacturer  like  I  was.  Rags  and  bottles  and  tin. 
Rags  and  bottles  and  tin.  Then  I  got  cold  and 
couldn't  do  it  any  more.  You  understand.  I  picked 
rags  and  bottles  and  tin  and  then  I  got  cold.  But 
I'm  all  right  now.  I'm  all  right  now.  That  was  a 
long1  time  before  I  got  poor.  That  was  after  I  got 
old  and  lost  my  fortune,  and  my  wife  died.  Yes,  yes, 
that's  how  it  was.  I  remember  now.  That's  how 
it  was.  That  was  after  I  got  old — but  now.  (lie 
turns  to  look  Into  the  can  again.) 


OLD  RAGPICKER 


THE    OLD    WOMAN 

Don't  you  want  the  coat,  mister?  Don't  you  want 
me  to  give  it  to  you  ? 

[He  pays  no  more  attention  to  her  and  she 
looks  about  confused.  Enter  a  grocer  boy 
with  a  basket  on  his  armJ\ 

THE    GROCER    BOY 

[Pausing  and  surveying  the  scene  J\ 
What're  yuh  tryin'  to  do,  lady?  Give  'im  a  coat? 
He  don't  un'erstan'  yuh,  lady.  Yuh  can't  do  nuttin' 
wit'  him.  He's  crazy.  Dat's  all.  His  name's  Old 
Ragpicker.  Dat's  what  dey  call  'im  aroun'  here. 
He's  aroun'  here  all  de  time,  more  or  less.  I  seen 
'im  often.  Yuh  can't  do  nuttin'  wit'  him,  missus. 
He's  bats.  He's  light  in  the  upper  story.  Nobody 
home,  missus.  (lie  moves  on.) 

OLD    WOMAN 

The  poor  old  thing!  The  poor  old  thing!  (She 
begins  to  move  on.)  Goin'  around  in  this  January 
weather  with  no  coat  on.  It's  dreadful.  I  should 
think  that  some  of  these  charity  societies  that  are 
always  talking  so  much  would  do  something.  I 
should  think  there'd  be  someone  to  do  something. 
(She  spies  the  two  policemen  and  approaches  them.) 
Can't  you  do  something  for  that  poor  old  man,  offi- 


"OLD  RAGPICKER" 

cer?  I  should  think  that  the  charity  societies  or 
someone  could  do  something.  (She  sniffs  righteously 
and  defiantly.) 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

[Very  respectfully.'} 

I  don't  think  you  can  do  very  much  for  him,  ma- 
dame.  He's  not  in  his  right  mind,  anyhow.  He's 
always  around  like  that. 

THE    OLD    WOMAN 

[With  considerable  asperity. ,] 

Well,  I  should  think  somebody  might  do  something. 
He  won't  pay  any  attention  to  me.  What  are  you 
police  good  for  if  you  won't  do  something?  I'm  sure 
somebody  ought  to  do  something,  even  if  I  can't 
make  him  understand.  The  idea !  Letting  him  pick 
out  of  a  garbage  can  at  his  age  and  in  his  condition ! 
It's  a  shame,  that's  what  it  is!  (She  goes  off  heat 
edly.) 

OFFICER    MULLARKY 

Well,  listen  to  old  fuss  and  feathers,  will  you! 
Whaddy  yuh  know?  Ye'd  think  we  made  'im  do  it! 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

Aw,  they're  all  bats,  these  old  ones,  every  one  of 
them.  They  make  me  sick. 


"OLD  RAGPICKER" 

[Enter  a  crowd  of  school  children,  newly  ex 
cused  from  a  nearby  school.  They  come  run 
ning  and  shouting.  As  they  note  "OLD  RAG 
PICKER"  some  of  them  come  running,  but  some 
of  them,  seeing  the  policemen,  pass  on.  Oth 
ers,  not  so  easily  overawed,  remain  longer. 
Finally  all  go  out  except  two  boys  and  a 
girl.} 

FIRST    BOY 

[A  lad  of  ten,  sarcastically.'} 
Ragpicker !     Ragpicker !    Look  at  the  ragpicker ! 

SECOND    BOY 

He's  picking  out  bottles  and  cans.  Here's  a  can 
for  you ! 

[He  picks  up  a  can  and  throws  it.  It  cuts  "OLD 
RAGPICKER'S"  hand.  He  bends  over  it  in  pain.} 

THE    SCHOOL    GIRL 

You  nasty  thing!  Aren't  you  mean!  I'd  think 
you'd  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  Nasty  Irish!  (She 
strikes  at  the  boy.) 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

[Noting  the  deed  of  the  boy  and  starting  to 
ward  him.] 


"OLD  RAGPICKER"  215 

Come  now,  get  out  of  here,  you  little  devil !    Beat 
it!     If  I  catch  you  around  here  again  I'll  fix  you. 
[He  shakes  his  club  at  him.] 

OFFICER    MULLARKY 

[Slightly  sympathetic.] 

They're  the  limit,  these  kids.     He  hurt  his  hand,  I 
guess. 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

The  little  devil!     If  I  could  catch  him  I'd  pan 
him. 


[Looking  at  his  hand  in  a  futile  way  and  touch 
ing  it.] 

They're  always  hitting  me,  these  boys.  They  never 
seem  to  care  what  they  throw  at  me.  They  hurt,  I 
tell  you,  those  old  cans !  (He  puts  his  hand  to  his 
mouth,  then  turns  to  the  garbage  cans  as  if  to  con 
tinue  his  search.  Suddenly  a  wild  look  comes  into 
his  eyes.)  Now  I'll  tell  you  something!  You  let 
me  alone !  I'm  not  crazy !  You  say  I'm  crazy  but 
I'm  not  crazy!  I  was  crazy.  I  did  lose  my  mind. 
But  I  lost  my  money!  I  lost  my  wife!  I  lost  my 
boy!  I  lost  my  friends!  (He  sobs  convulsively  for 
a  moment  or  two,  then  as  suddenly  stops.)  But  I'm 
not  crazy  now.  I  got  better,  I  tell  you.  That's 
why  I'm  out.  I  got  better.  I  live  by  myself  now. 


216  "OLD  RAGPICKER" 

I'm  all  alone  where  I  can  watch  the  water  go  by  and 
the  boats  and  the  clouds.  That's  why  I  live  there. 
I'm  not  crazy.  (His  voice  and  manner  soften.)  I 
like  the  water  and  the  boats  and  the  clouds.  I'm  all 
right.  That's  why  I  live  alone.  I  don't  bother  any 
body.  I  don't  ask  for  anything,  do  I?  (His  manner 
becomes  more  intense.)  Why  don't  you  let  me  alone, 
you  little  devils?  Why  don't  you  let  me  alone,  eh? 
I'm  not  crazy.  I'm  just  cold.  That's  what's  the 
matter  with  me.  I'm  cold.  I  know  what's  the  mat 
ter  with  me.  I'm  lonely.  (He  returns  to  the  ash 
cans.) 

OFFICER    MUI/LARKY 

[Interested.] 
He  talks  a  lot,  don't  he? 


OFFICER    BROGAN 

Sure.  He  always  goes  on  like  that.  I've  seen  him 
do  it  lots  of  times.  There's  no  harm  in  him,  though. 
He  just  talks.  You'd  talk  too  if  you  had  your  hand 
cut. 

ANOTHER    STREET    BOY 

[Aroused  by  the  spectacle  but  withdrawing  to 

a  safe  distance.] 
Ragpicker !    Ragpicker ! 


"OLD  RAGPICKER"  217 


A    SCHOOL    GIRL 


[Equally  interested  and  amused.'] 
Goodness  !    Look  at  his  shoes ! 


[Picking  out  another  can.~\ 

Ragpicker !  Ragpicker !  Yes.  That's  what  they 
call  me.  Ragpicker !  Yes  !  That's  what  they  call 
me.  They  throw  stones  at  me,  they  do.  They  hit 
me  once  here — (he  puts  his  hand  to  his  head  above 
his  ear).  They  hurt  me  and  I  had  to  run.  They're 
devils,  those  boys.  They're  devils !  Yes,  they  are. 
(He  straightens  up  and  the  wild  look  comes  into  his 
eyes.)  Now  you  let  me  alone,  I  tell  you.  You  let 
me  be,  do  you  hear?  You  cut  my  hand,  you  did. 
Why  do  you  want  to  throw  stones  at  me?  I'm  an 
old  man,  I  am.  Now  you  let  me  be. 

[The  light  in  his  eyes  subsides  completely.    He 
returns  to  the  garbage  cans.] 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

[Observing  him  narrowly.] 

Some  other  kids  must  have  been  throwing  stones 
at  him  somewhere. 

OFFICER    MULLARKY 

Sure  he  seems  to  be  goin'  on  a  good  deal  to  me. 


218  "OLD  RAGPICKER" 


[Ruefully.] 

But  that  was  a  long  time  ago  before  I  was  old  and 
cold,  before  I  got  bad  again,  I  remember.  The 
devils !  They  cut  me.  ( He  pulls  up  a  small  brass 
measuring  cup,  broken  and  dented,  and  a  whiskey 
flask  with  a  metal  top  to  it.  Pausing  and  examining 
the  flask.)  Yes,  some  of  them  drink.  That's  the 
way.  When  you're  old  it  doesn't  matter  what  you 
do.  It  doesn't  count.  Nothing  matters.  You  can 
drink  if  you  want  to  when  you're  old.  It  may  keep 
you  warm.  It  would  me  if  I  could  get  it.  (He  rum 
mages  again.)  But  I'm  old  now,  and  I  don't  mind. 
No,  I  don't  mind.  (He  finds  a  small  brass  rod  in  the 
second  can.)  Here's  a  few  cents,  now.  Brass  is 
worth  fifteen  cents  a  pound  and  copper  twenty.  This 
metal  cap,  now — (he  unscrews  it  from  the  whiskey 
bottle  and  puts  it  in  his  bag  with  the  cup) — is  worth 
a  cent  anyhow.  I  found  a  pair  of  rubber  shoes  yes 
terday.  Two  of  them.  Rubber  is  worth  eight  cents 
a  pound.  Small  bottles  are  worth  four  cents  a  dozen 
if  they're  the  same  size.  (He  pauses  and  his  mood 
changes.)  Oh  yes,  once  I  was  young.  Yes.  I  was 
young  and  used  to  sing,  too.  Yes,  I  remember. 

[He  begins  singing  in  a  cracked  falsetto  with 
no  melody  at  all.] 

Oh  heigh  ho ! 

It's  marching  we  go. 


"OLD  RAGPICKER"  219 

It's  marching,  it's  marching  the  boys  you  go, 

Oh  ho  ho!    Oh  ho  ho! 

Marching  so  the  boys  do  go. 

[He  ceases  and  begins  mumbling  again  J\ 


OFFICER    MUULARKY 

[Nonchalantly.] 

Wouldn't  yuh  think  now  that  there'd  be  someone 
related  to  an  old  screw  like  that  that'd  look  after 
him?  Here  he  is  roamin'  around  without  even  a 
friend  and  there  ain't  any  one  that  knows  his  name. 
I'll  bet  he  don't  know  it  himself,  if  you  get  right 
down  to  it.  It's  funny,  a  nut  like  that  without  any 
body  to  look  after  him. 


OFFICER    BROGAN 

Well,  if  he's  bats  maybe  they  don't  know  where 
he  is.    I  never  thought  of  that. 

[They  contemplate  him  speculatively.] 


OFFICER    MUKLARKY 

There're  a  lot  of  cases  like  that  in  the  papers. 
How  would  it  do  if  we  ragged  him  a  little,  eh?  He 
might  come  across  with  his  real  name.  We  might 
find  out  somepin  about  him.  Whaddy  yuh  say,  huh? 


220  "OLD  RAGPICKER" 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

Oh,  all  right.  I'm  game.  Sure.  It  can't  do  no 
harm.  We  better  scare  the  kids  away  first  though, 
and  then  go  after  him.  {They  make  a  demonstration 
in  force  .  .  .  to  the  children.)  Come  on  now,  git 
out  o'  here.  All  of  you !  Beat  it !  Git,  now !  Quick ! 
Get  along  or  we'll  run  you  all  in.  (They  shoo  them 
away.) 

CHORUS    OF    CHILDREN 

{Defiantly.'} 

Oh  wow  wow  wow!  Ragpicker!  Ragpicker! 
Wow !  Wow !  Wow !  Woooooooow ! 

OFFICER    MUKLARKY 

{Coming  forward  and  touching  the  RAGPICKER 

on  the  arm.1 

Here,  old  sport.  Stop  a  minute.  Hold  on,  now. 
What's  your  name?  Who  are  yuh?  Whaddyuh  got 
in  that  bag,  eh?  What's  your  name,  an'  what're  yuh 
doin'?  (He  attempts  to  look  wise  and  serious.) 


[Straightening  up  and  seeming  to  recognize 
them  for  a  moment.  As  he  does  so  he  quails 
and  a  troubled  light  comes  into  his  eyes,  but 
this  passes  after  a  few  moments  and  he  is  as 
he  was  before.~\ 


"OLD  RAGPICKER" 

I — I — was  picking  bottles  out  of  the  garbage  can 
here,  sir.  That  was  all  I  was  doing,  sir.  Nothing 
more,  sir,  no  sir,  nothing  more.  Just  bottles  and 
cans  and  old  rags,  if  there  are  any.  Nothing  more, 
sir.  That's  all,  sir.  (He  stares  uncertainly  before 
him.) 

OFFICER    MULLARKY 

[Gaily  and  with  condescension.'] 
Sure,  that's  all  right,  old  sport.  We  know  all 
about  that.  It  don't  make  no  difference  about  the 
bottles.  What  we  want  to  know  is — who  are  yuh, 
anyway?  What's  your  name?  Where'd  yuh  come 
from,  eh?  Kin  yuh  tell  us  that  now?  Where'd  yuh 
come  from  and  what's  your  name,  eh?  (He  lays 
an  encouraging  hand  on  his  shoulder. ) 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

Your  name,  sure,  that's  it?  What's  your  name, 
now?  Come! 


Name?  Name?  Yes,  my  name!  What  is  my 
name?  Let  me  see.  (He  fingers  his  coatsleeue  aim 
lessly  and  picks  at  his  buttons.)  I  had  a  name,  let 
me  see  now.  (He  puts  his  hands  to  his  brow  and 
kinks  his  forehead  while  the  officers  contemplate  him 
silently.)  My  name?  My  name?  What  was  my 
name?  I  had  a  name.  It  just  slips  me  now  for  the 


222  "OLD  RAGPICKER" 

moment  but  it  will  come  back  to  me.  I'm  sure  of 
that.  It'll  come  back  to  me.  My  name.  My  name. 
What  is  my  name?  (He  stares  vacantly.) 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

[Heavily.] 

Well,  can't  you  remember  it,  sport?  Sure  you 
got  a  name.  Don't  yuh  know  what  people  called  yuh 
before  yuh  came  down  here?  Can't  you  remember? 
Where  were  yuh  before  yuh  came  down  here  ?  Come 
on  now,  think!  Where  were  yuh  before  yuh  came 
down  here?  Come  on,  now?  What  was  your  name? 
(He  beams  on  him  encouragingly.) 


[Apparently  straining  to  think. ] 
I  can't  seem  to  remember  where  I  was.  No,  sir, 
not  just  at  the  moment,  sir,  I  can't.  It'll  all  come 
back  to  me  though  if  you'll  just  give  me  a  little  time. 
It  always  does.  My  name!  My  name!  (He  snaps 
his  fingers  helplessly.) 

OFFICER    MULLARKY 

[Gallantly  and  tolerantly.] 

Come  on  now  and  try,  old  Skeezicks.     That's  a 
good  old  sport.    Try  hard. 


"OLD  RAGPICKER" 


I'll  tell  you  how  it  is.  When  you  get  old  it  don't 
seem  to  make  so  much  difference  any  more,  don't  you 
see?  Nothing  really  matters.  You  don't  have  to 
eat  so  much  and  it  don't  seem  to  make  so  much  dif 
ference  whether  you're  warm  or  not.  I  never  seem 
cold  now.  No  sir,  really,  I  never  think  of  it,  you 
know.  Once  I  had  a  factory,  yes  I  did.  I  had  three 
hundred  people  working  for  me.  That  was  in  eighty- 
six,  before  the  panic.  Oh  those  were  great  times. 
I  made  woollen  blankets  in  those  days — and  jeans — 
and  I  made  a  lot  of  money.  Yes,  I  was  very  success 
ful.  I  had  my  horses  and  carriages,  and  my  children 
went  to  school, — all  my  children — and  some  of  the 
neighbors'.  There  was  a  big  demand  for  those 
things  then.  'You  can't  imagine.  Then  I  had  two 
fires,  and  the  trusts  came  along,  and  my  wife  died, 
and  my  boy,  and  I  got — I  got — I  got —  {He 
begins  to  sob  again.)  You  can't  imagine  what  a 
difference  it  made,  all  those  things  going  so  fast. 
Oh,  a  great  difference,  yes,  sir.  But  it's  all  the  same 
now.  I'm  just  as  happy. 

OFFICER    MULLARKY 

[Still  very  gaily.'} 

Oh,  yuh're  happy,  are  yuh?  Well,  that's  good. 
But  how  about  your  name  now?  Can't  yuh  remem 
ber  that? 


"OLD  RAGPICKER" 


Name?  Name?  (lie  looks  about  vaguely.)  My 
name?  That's  funny.  It's  gone  completely  again. 
(He  beats  Ms  head  foolishly.)  I  can't  seem  to  think. 
(Half  sobbing.)  I — can't  seem  to  think.  I — I — 
have  a  name,  but  what  is  it?  (He  stops  crying  and 
stands  opening  and  shutting  his  hand.) 


OFFICEE    MUULARKY 

[With  a  faint  trace  of  sympathy. ~\ 
Sure   it's   funny   yuh   can't   remember   that,   old 
sport.     Yuh  can  remember  about  your  factory  all 
right.     What  was  the  name  on  the  factory?     Can't 
yuh  remember  that  ? 


Factory?     Factory?     What  factory  was  it?     I 
don't  remember  any  factory. 


OFFICER    BROGAN 


Will  yuh  listen  to  that,  now!  One  minute  he  re 
members  a  factory  an'  the  next  minute  he  don't. 
Yuh  don't  suppose  he  kin  be  stringin'  us,  do  yuh? 


"OLD  RAGPICKER" 


OFFICER    MULLARKY 

[Sternly.'] 

Look  here,  ol'  feller,  none  o'  yer  con,  now.  Cut 
out  the  bull,  dyah  hear?  None  o'  yer  slick  tricks. 
Out  wi'  yer  name.  Who  are  yuh?  Where  dyah  come 
from?  Gimme  yer  name  damn  quick  now,  or  we'll 
lock  yuh  up.  Yuh  don't  want  tuh  go  to  jail,  do  yuh? 
Dyuh  want  to  go  to  jail?  (He  leans  toward  him 
threateningly.) 


[At  first  frightened  by  his  manner  but  subsiding 

into  a  dreamy  state.] 

Jail?  Jail?  Is  it  warm  there?  (He  begins  to 
look  around  him.)  Name?  Name?  It's  funny, 
though,  I  can  never  think  of  it,  or  of  hers,  or  of  his, 
or  of  anybody's.  They're  all  gone.  Well,  it  doesn't 
matter.  When  yer  old  it  doesn't  really  matter,  does 
it?  (He  smiles  benignly.) 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

[Quite  taken  abaci;  by  the  smile.~\ 
Whaddyah  know  about  that?  Kin  yuh  beat  it? 
If  I  thought  he  was  stringin'  us  I'd  beat  him  up,  but 
I  don't.  He's  clean  dips,  nutty,  empty.  (He  lifts 
his  finger  to  his  forehead  suggestively.)  All  gone. 
Empty  as  a  can. 


226  "OLD  RAGPICKER" 

OFFICER    MTJLLARKY 

[To  BROGAN,  but  looking  at  "OLD  RAGPICKER" 

suspiciously.  ] 

I  don't  know  about  that.  I  don't  know  whether 
he  is  or  not.  He  might  be  foolin'  us  at  that.  Yuh 
never  kin  tell  about  these  old  nuts.  (Aloud.)  Do 
yuh  think  it  would  do  any  good  if  we  took  him  to  the 
station  and  locked  him  up  for  a  while?  Maybe  he'd 
git  his  name  back  sittin'  in  a  cell,  eh?  Whaddyah 
say,  Brogan?  Dyah  think  that  'ud  brighten  him  up 
any?  (He  looks  at  "OLD  RAGPICKER"  to  see  if  his  re 
marks  have  had  any  effect,  but  they  have  not.)* 
Come  along  then.  (He  takes  him  by  the  arm.) 
We'll  see  what  a  few  days  in  jail'll  do.  (He  starts  to 
pull  him.) 

"OLD  RAGPICKER" 

[Sweetly.'} 
Is  it  warm  there? 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

[TF/fco   has   seen  "OLD   RAGPICKER"   about    too 

long.] 

Cut  it,  Bill,  it  won't  do  no  good.  Can't  yah  see 
he's  nuts?  Yuh  can't  scare  him.  He  ain't  right. 
Besides,  the  sergeant  won't  stand  for  it.  He  knows 
him.  We'd  better  let  him  go.  He's  light  in  the  up 
per  story.  That's  all.  There's  no  use  runnin'  him  in. 


"OLD  RAGPICKER" 


OFFICER    MULLARKY 

[Irritably,  but  mock  pleasantly.] 
All  right  then,  old  Skeezicks,  I'm  goin'  to  let  yuh 
go,  but  beat  it  now  !  Git  yer  bag  up  and  dust  along. 
Yuh  kin  unerstan'  that  all  right,  can't  yuh?  Yuh 
don't  need  to  be  told  that  twice,  I'll  bet.  Well,  git 
yer  bag  an'  mosey,  now.  Mosey!  Yuh've  got  all 
yuh  kin  git  out  of  this  can,  anyway.  (He  smiles 
broadly  and  gives  him  a  hearty  shove.) 


[Fumbling  at  his  bag  and  looking  around.} 
Yes,  I  must  be  going  now,  that's  so.     I  must  be 
going.     Yes.     (He  begins  to  gather  the  neck  of  his 
bag  into  his  hands.)     If  I  just  had  a  few  more  cans. 
It's  cold,  I  tell  you. 

A    PASSING    STREET    BOY 

[Seeing  the  conference  over.] 
Ragpicker !     Ragpicker !    Look  at  the  ragpicker ! 

OFFICER    MULLARKY 

[To  OFFICER  BROGAN,  strolling  away.] 
He  is  nutty  for  fair,  I  guess,  eh! 

OFFICER    BROGAN 

[As  they  exit.] 
Sure  he's  nutty.     I  told  you  that. 


"OLD  RAGPICKER" 


THE    PASSING    STREET    BOY 


[Repeating.] 
Ragpicker!     Ragpicker!     Look  at  the  ragpicker! 


[Still  struggling  to  place  his  bag  on  his  back 
and  listening  to  the  cry  of  the  street  boy  as  it 
dies  away.~\ 

Ragpicker!  Ragpicker!  Yes,  that's  it.  Now  I 
remember.  That's  my  name.  Ragpicker!  Rag 
picker  !  Yes,  that's  what  they  call  me.  Ragpicker ! 
Ragpicker!  That's  my  name.  That's  what  they 
wanted  to  know.  Why  wouldn't  I  think  of  it  when 
they  wanted  to  know  it?  It  was  on  my  card  case. 
Three  thousand  pounds  of  wool.  Ragpicker !  Yes  ! 
Ragpicker.  Yes.  Ragpicker.  Now  I  remember. 
Ragpicker.  Yes.  Why  couldn't  I  remember  that 
when  they  wanted  to  know?  Ragpicker!  Yes.  Old 
Ragpicker.  Yes.  Old  Ragpicker.  Yes. 

[As  he  mumbles  he  slowly  gets  his  bag  placed 
on  his  back  and  trudges  off.~\ 

CURTAIN 


THE  ANAESTHETIC  REVELATION 

It  seems,  in  connection  with  the  play,  "Laughing  Gas" 
(page  83),  that  some  of  the  effects  of  nitrous  oxide  gas 
(laughing  gas)  have  been  observed  before. 

In  a  pamphlet  published  in  1874  at  Amsterdam,  New 
York,  by  Benjamin  Paul  Blood,  entitled  "The  Anaesthetic 
Revelation  and  the  Gist  of  Philosophy,"  Mr.  Blood  wrote: 

"Of  this  condition  (a  state  of  intense  illumination  or  philo 
sophic  perception),  although  it  may  have  been  obtained  other 
wise,  I  know  only  by  the  use  of  anaesthetic  agents.  After  experi 
ments  ranging  over  nearly  fourteen  years  I  affirm — what  any  man 
may  prove  at  will — that  there  is  an  invariable  and  reliable  con 
dition  (or  uncondition)  ensuing  about  the  instant  of  recall  from 
anaesthetic  stupor  to  sensible  observation,  or  "coming  to"  in  which 
tl?£_^^^~PJ~-.!??i1^J§_J[£y££i££>  but  because  it  can  not  be 
remembered  in  the  n6rmal~c~on6!iflon  it  is  lost  altogether  through 
the  infrequency  of  anaesthetic  treatment  in  any  individual  case 
ordinarily,  and  buried  amid  the  hum  of  returning  common  sense 
under  the  epitaph  of  all  illumination:  "this  is  a  queer  world." 
Yet  I  have  warned  others  to  expect  this  wonder  on  entering 
anaesthetic  slumber,  and  none  so  cautioned  has  failed  to  report 
to  me  of  it  in  terms  which  assured  me  of  its  realization.  I  have 
spoken  with  various  persons  who  induce  anaesthesis  (dentists, 
surgeons,  etc.)  who  had  observed  that  many  patients  at  the  mo 
ment  of  recall  seem  as  having  made  a  startling  yet  somehow 
matter  of  course  (and  even  grotesque)  discovery  in  their  own 
nature,  and  try  to  speak  of  it,  but  invariably  fail  in  a  last  mood 
of  introspection.  Of  what  astonishes  them  it  is  hard  to  give  or 
receive  intimation,  but  I  think  most  persons  who  have  tested  it 
will  accept  this  as  the  central  point  of  the  illumination:  that 
sanity  is  not  the  basic  quality  of  intelligence,  but  a  mere  con 
dition  which  is  variable  and  like  the  humming  of  a  wheel,  goes  up 
and  down  the  musical  gamut  according  to  a  physical  activity;  and 
that  only  insanity  is  formal  or  contrasted  thought  while  the 
naked  life  is  realized  only  outside  of  sanity  altogether;  and  it 
is  the  instant  contrast  of  this  "tasteless  water  of  souls"  with 
formal  thought  as  we  "come  to"  that  leaves  in  the  patient  an 
astonishment  that  the  awful  mystery  of  life  is  at  last  but  a 
homely  and  a  common  thing,  and  that  aside  from  mere  formality 
the  majestic  and  the  absurd  are  of  equal  dignity." 

Sometime  subsequent  to  this,  but  before  18Q6,  judging 
by  the  dates  of  the  volume  in  which  his  comment  appears, 
the  attention  of  William  JameSj,  Professor  of  Psychology 
at  Harvard,  was  called  to  this,  for,  in  his  volume,  "The 
Will  to  Believe"  (Longmans  Green  and  Co. — 1897)  as  a 
footnote  to  his  essay  entitled  "Some  Hegelisms,"  occurs 
the  following: 

"Since  the  preceding  article  was  written  (Some  Hegelisms),  some 
observations  on  the  effect  of  nitrous-oxide-gas-intoxication  which  I 


was  prompted  to  make  by  reading  the  pamphlet  called  The  An 
aesthetic  Revelation  and  the  Gist  of  Philosophy,  by  Benjamin  Paul 
Blood,  Amsterdam,  N.  Y.,  1874,  have  made  me  understand  bet 
ter  than  ever  before  both  the  strength  and  the  weakness  of 
Hegel's  philosophy.  I  strongly  urge  others  to  repeat  the  ex 
periment,  which,  with  pure  gas,  is  harmless  enough.  The  effects 
will  of  course  vary  with  the  individual  from  time  to  time;  but 
it  is  probable  that  in  the  former  case,  as  in  the  latter,  a  generic 
resemblance  will  obtain.  With  me,  as  with  every  other  person 
of  whom  I  have  heard,  the  keynote  of  the  experience  is  the 
tremendously  exciting  sense  of  an  intense  metaphysical  illumi 
nation.  Truth  lies  open  to  the  view  in  depth  beneath  depth  of 
almost  blinding  evidence.  The  mind  sees  all  the  logical  relations 
of  being  with  an  apparent  subtlety  and  instantaneity  to  which 
its  normal  consciousness  offers  no  parallel;  only  as  sobriety  re 
turns,  the  feeling  of  insight  fades,  and  one  is  left  staring 
vacantly  at  a  few  disjointed  words  and  phrases,  as  one  stares 
at  a  cadaverous-looking  snowpeak  from  which  the  sunset  glow 
has  just  fled,  or  at  the  black  cinder  left  by  an  extinguished  brand. 

The  immense  emotional  sense  of  reconciliation  which  character 
izes  the  'maudlin'  stage  of  alcoholic  drunkenness, — a  stage  which 
seems  silly  to  lookers-on,  but  the  subjective  rapture  of  which 
probably  constitutes  a  chief  part  of  the  temptation  to  the  vice, — 
is  well  known.  The  center  and  periphery  of  things  seem  to  come 
together.  The  ego  and  ifcs  objects,  the  meum  and  the  tuum,  .are 
one.  Now  ttiis,  only ^T  thousand-fold  enhanced,  was  the  effect 
.upon  me  of  the  gas;  and  its  first  result  was  to  make  peal 
/through  me  with  unutterable  power  the  conviction  that  Hegelism 
i-was  true  after  all  and  that  the^  deepest  jconvictions  qfjny  intellect 
Ihitherto.  were  wrong.  Whatever~idea  or  representation  occurred 
to  the  mind  was  seized  by  the  same  logical  forceps,  and  served 
to  illustrate  the  same  truth;  and  that  truth  was  that  every 
opposition,  among  whatsoever  things,  vanishes  in  a  higher  unity 
in  which  it  is  based;  that  all  contradictions,  so-called,  are  but 
differences;  that  all  differences  are  of  degree;  that  all  degrees 
are  of  a  common  kind ;  that  unbroken  continuity  is  of  the  essence 
of  being;  and  that  we  are  literally  in  the  midst  of  an  infinite, 
to  perceive  the  existence  of  which  is  the  utmost  we  can  attain. 
Without  the  same  as  a  basis  how  could  strife  occur?  Strife  pre 
supposes  something  to  be  striven  about ;  and  in  this  common  topic, 
the  same  for  both  parties,  the  differences  merge.  From  the 
hardest  contradiction  to  the  tenderest  diversity  of  verbiage  dif 
ferences  evaporate;  yes  and  no  agree  at  least  in  being  assertions; 
a  denial  of  a  statement  is  but  another  mode  of  stating  the  same, 
contradiction  can  only  occur  of  the  same  thing, — all  opinions  are 
thus  synonyms,  are  synonymous,  are  the  same.  But  the  same 
phrase  by  difference  of  emphasis  is  two;  and  here  again  differ 
ence  and  no-difference  merge  in  one. 

It  is  impossible  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  torrential  character 
of  the  identification  of  opposites  as  it  streams  through  the  mind 
in  this  experience.  I  have  sheet  after  sheet  of  phrases  dictated 
or  written  during  the  intoxication,  which  to  sober  readers  seem 
meaningless  drivel,  but  which  in  the  moment  of  transcribing  were 
fused  in  the  fire  of  infinite  rationality.  God  and  devil,  good  and 
evil,  life  and  death,  I  and  you,  sober  and  drunk,  matter  and 
form,  black  and  white,  quantity  and  quality,  shiver  of  ecstasy  and 
shudder  of  horror,  vomiting  and  swallowing,  inspiration  and  ex 
piration,  fate  and  reason,  great  and  small,  extent  and  intent, 
joke  and  earnest,  tragic  and  comic,  and  fifty  other  contrasts 


figure  in  these  pages  in  the  same  monotonous  way.  The  mind  saw 
how  each  term  belonged  to  its  contrast  through  a  knife  edged 
moment  of  transition  which  it  effected,  and  which,  perennial  and 
eternal,  was  the  nunc  stans  of  life.  The  thought  of  mutual  im 
plication  of  the  parts  in  the  bare  form  of  a  judgment  of  oppo 
sition,  as  'nothing — but'  'no  more — than,'  'only — if,'  etc.,  produced 
a  perfect  delirium  of  theoretic  rapture.  And  at  last,  when 
definite  ideas  to  work  on  came  slowly,  the  mind  went  through 
the  mere  form  of  recognizing  sameness  in  identity  by  contrasting 
the  same  word  with  itself,  differently  emphasized,  or  shorn  of  its 
initial  letter.  Let  me  transcribe  a  few  sentences: 

What's  mistake  but  kind  of  take? 

What's  nausea  but  a  kind  -ausea? 

Sober,  drunk,  -unk,  astonishment. 

Everything  can  become  the  subject  of  criticism — how  criticise 
without  something  to  criticise? 

Agreement — disagreement ! ! 

Emotion — motion ! ! ! 

Die  away  from,  from,  die  away  (without  from). 

Reconciliation  of  opposites;  sober,  drunk,  all  the  same! 

Good  and  evil  reconciled  in  a  laugh! 

It  escapes,  it  escapes! 

But— 

What  escapes — WHAT  escapes? 

Emphasis,  EMphasis;  there  must  be  some  emphasis  in  order 
for  there  to  be  a  phasis. 

No  verbiage  can  give  it,  because  the  verbiage  is  the  other. 

Zwcoherent,  coherent — same. 

And  it  fades!     And  it's  infinite!     AND  it's  infinite! 

If  it  wasn't  going  why  should  you  hold  on  to  it? 

Don't  you  see  the  difference,  don't  you  see  the  identity? 

Constantly  opposites  united! 

The  same  me  telling  you  to  write  and  not  to  write! 

Extreme — extreme,  extreme !  Within  the  exiensiiy  that  'extreme' 
contains  is  contained  the  'extreme'  of  intensity. 

Something,  and  other  than  that  thing! 

Intoxication,  and  otherness  than  intoxication. 

Every  attempt  at  betterment, — every  attempt  at  otherment, — is 
a 

It  fades  forever  and  forever  as  we  move. 

There  is  a  reconciliation! 

Reconciliation — ^conciliation ! 

By  God  how  that  hurts !  By  God  how  it  doesn't  hurt !  Recon 
ciliation  of  two  extremes. 

By  George,  nothing  but  othmgl 

That  sounds  like  nonsense,  but  it  is  pure  tmsense! 

Thought  deeper  than  speech — ! 

Medical  school,  divinity  school,  school!  SCHOOL!  Oh,  my 
God,  oh  God— oh  God! 

The  most  coherent  and  articulate  sentence  which  came  was 
this:— 

There  are  no  differences  but  differences  of  degree  between  dif 
ferent  degrees  of  difference  and  no  difference. 

This  phrase  has  the  true  Hegelian  ring,  being  in  fact  a  regular 
sich  als  sich  auf  sich  selbst  beziehende  Negativatat.  And  true 
Hegelians  will  uberhcmpt  be  able  to  read  between  the  lines  and 
feel,  at  any  rate,  what  possible  ecstasies  of  cognitive  emotion  might 
have  bathed  these  tattered  fragments  of  thought  when  they  were 
alive.  But  for  the  assurance  of  a  certain  amount  of  respect 

3 


from  them,  I  should  hardly  venture  to  print  what  must  be  such 
caviare  to  the  general. 

But  now  comes  the  reverse  of  the  medal.  What  is  the  prin 
ciple  of  unity  in  all  this  monotonous  rain  of  instances?  Al 
though  I  did  not  see  it  at  first,  I  soon  found  that  it  was  in  each 
case  nothing  but  the  abstract  genus  of  which  the  conflicting  terms 
were  opposite  species.  In  other  words,  although  tfie  flood  of 
ontologic  emotion  was  Hegelian  through  and  through,  the  ground 
for  it  was  nothing  but  the  world-old  principle  that  things  are 
the  same  only  so  far  and  no  farther  than  they  are  the  same,  or 
partake  of  a  common  nature, — the  principle  that  Hegel  most 
tramples  underfoot.  At  the  same  time  the  rapture  of  beholding 
a  process  that  was  infinite,  changed  (as  the  nature  of  the  in 
finitude  was  realized  by  the  mind)  into  the  sense  of  a  dreadful 
and  ineluctable  fate,  with  whose  magnitude  every  finite  effort  is 
incommensurable  and  in  the  light  of  which  whatever  happens  is 
indifferent.  This  instantaneous  revulsion  of  mood  from  rapture 
to  horror  is,  perhaps,  the  strongest  emotion  I  have  ever  experi 
enced.  I  got  it  repeatedly  when  the  inhalation  was  continued 
long  enough  to  produce  incipient  nausea;  and  I  cannot  but  re 
gard  it  as  the  normal  and  inevitable  outcome  of  the  intoxication, 
if  sufficiently  prolonged.  A  pessimistic  fatalism,  depth  within 
depth  of  impotence  and  indifference,  reason  and  silliness  united, 
not  in  a  higher  synthesis,  but  in  the  fact  that  whatever  you 
choose  it  is  all  one, — this  is  the  upshot  of  a  revelation  that 
began  so  rosy  bright. 

Even  when  the  process  stops  short  of  this  ultimatum,  the  reader 
will  have  noted  from  the  phrases  quoted  how  often  it  ends  by 
losing  the  clue.  Something  'fades,'  'escapes';  and  the  feeling  of 
insight  is  changed  into  an  intense  one  of  bewilderment,  puzzle, 
confusion,  astonishment.  I  know  no  more  singular  sensation  than 
this  intense  bewilderment,  with  nothing  particular  left  to  be  be 
wildered  at  save  the  bewilderment  itself.  It  seems,  indeed,  a 
causa  sui,  or  'spirit  become  its  own  object.' 

My  conclusion  is  that  the  togetherness  of  things  in  a  common 
world,  the  law  of  sharing,  of  which  I  have  said  so  much,  may, 
when  perceived,  engender  a  very  powerful  emotion;  that  Hegel 
was  so  unusually  susceptible  to  this  emotion  throughout  his  life 
that  its  gratification  became  his  supreme  end,  and  made  him 
tolerably  unscrupulous  as  to  the  means  that  he  employed;  that 
indifferentism  is  the  true  outcome  of  every  view  of  the  world 
which  makes  infinity  and  continuity  to  be  its  essence,  and  that 
pessimistic  or  optimistic  attitudes  pertain  to  the  mere  accidental 
subjectivity  of  the  moment;  finally,  that  the  identification  of 
contradictories,  so  far  from  being  the  self -developing  process  that 
Hegel  supposes,  is  really  a  self  consuming  process,  passing  from 
the  less  to  the  more  abstract,  and  terminating  either  in  a  laugh 
in  the  ultimate  nothingness,  or  in  a  mood  of  vertiginous  amazement 
at  a  meaningless  infinity." 

It  is  needless  to  say,  I  presume,  that  "Laughing  Gas"  was 
not  suggested  or  inspired  by  either  of  these  comments. 
My  attention  was  not  called  to  them  until  two  months  after 
my  own  work  had  been  published. 

THE  AUTHOR. 

New  York,  April,  1916. 


14  DAY  USE 

RN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


LOAN  DEPT. 


' 


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